


I walk beside you

by J_Antebellum



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Adoption, Angst, Character Death, Cheesy, Depression, Drama, F/M, Love, Major trauma, Moderate Violence, PTSD, Romance, Sex, Trauma, anxiety disorders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:08:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 91,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26998708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Antebellum/pseuds/J_Antebellum
Summary: In the aftermath of Troubled Blood, Cormoran and Robin realize that this was always their story above it all, their friendship, their love, and all that the future held in store for them. Come along to read Talek Herbert's Best Seller 'I walk beside you', the story of how London's two brightest minds and most skilled detectives fell in love, fought adversity together, and what life had in store for them.
Relationships: Ilsa Herbert/Nick Herbert, Oliver Bargate/Vanessa Ekwensi, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 65
Kudos: 89





	1. On an autumn night

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote three stories immediately after reading (and a bit during) Troubled Blood, and in the end they mixed in this and another I've just begun. This one's over 180.000 words long and 47 chapters (last of which includes epilogue in itself) and ended itself before I knew it was time, when the magic of the words said it had to be. In this story I wanted to talk about love, about adversity, about chasing dreams and fighting battles, about mental health, trauma and psychology, and I did my best to research everything best I could (yet there will still be mistakes, I bet you), and it was the most joy I've had writing in a long time.  
> Now, I hope you enjoy it as much as I have, and that it'll start a series of updates of all the stories I owe you updates of. Long live Cormoran and Robin, much love to everyone.

**Chapter 1: On an Autumn night.**

Strike hadn’t expected for Robin to hug him, nor to feel her lips against his beard, firmly pressed, full of intention. He hugged her just as tightly, trying to not have to break away for as long as possible. They could feel each other’s beating hearts drumming against their chests, and know without a doubt that the hug was just as special for the both of them, that they longed for the other’s touch, that now, smelling Robin’s new _Narciso_ perfume and Strike’s new lavender aftershave lotion, they were home, surrounded by the smells and sensations that over five and a half years had become every representation of home. And it hit them both at the same time; they didn’t love London _per se_ , they loved the fact that the other was there, in London, waiting for them every time they left the metropolis.

When they finally parted, they remained dangerously close for each other’s peace of mind. Strike felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and the way she smiled at her, all blushed, was making his heart beat way too fast for human comfort. And still, he didn’t want her to move any farther. Robin cleared her throat, adjusted her purse, and tried not to blush any harder as Strike admired her curves in her adjusted blue dress, the curves he’d always fancied, but then Robin was overcome with a sudden spark of boldness, of tenacity, of daringness, and she turned to look at Strike shamelessly upside down, admiring the way his suit fit him so nicely, letting him know she was staring at him not as her best friend or in a brotherly way, but as an attractive, desirable man, and reaching the unspoken understanding that the other was doing the exact same thing.

“S—,” Strike had to stop and clear his throat, realizing it had gotten so dry he couldn’t finish the word. He was overcome with desire and prayed, even though he was not a religious man, that he’d be able to control his little friend, so that it’d stay chilling, relaxed, non-threateningly. “So,” he tried again, and this time elicited a chuckle from Robin, “shall we?” he offered her his arm in a gentlemanly act, and amused, she took it, and let him guide her around the Mayfair streets in comfortable silence.

It wasn’t like Robin didn’t want to talk, it was that for the first time, his thoughtfulness, his dedication, had left her speechless for real. So she stayed in silence, yet smiling, until they arrived to the Ritz Hotel and then, to The Rivoli Bar & Cocktail Lounge, where a waiter came to them, questioning.

“Booking’s under Cormoran Strike,” the senior detective said before the waiter could ask, and Robin found herself impressed and attracted all at once by his firm, suave and polite tone, the way he had suddenly become as dignified as a duke, and she remembered how Lizzy Chiswell, years back, had remarked Strike’s ability to never let anyone make him feel like he was any less, when in more snobbish company.

“Of course, Sir,” the waiter confirmed the reservation, and smiled politely. “This way, Sir, Milady…”

Robin didn’t remember having been called Milady ever before, and she experienced it like an extra birthday present, her stomach fluttering in anticipation. The waiter, doubtlessly, thought this was a date between two upper-class people and therefore, they soon found themselves sitting on leopard-patterned chairs, in a room full of golden colours that breathed elegance.

“Woah,” Robin said, grinning, as soon as the champagne glasses were filled, “I’ve got to say you’ve got a tendency of outdoing yourself, Mr Strike.” She said imitating a posh tone that made him chuckle and, in consequence, made her smile bigger and sincerely.

“Do I? I would’ve thought it was quite the opposite.”

“Well, you just don’t have a middle point, either go big or go home. Buying expensive Vashti dresses as farewell presents to temporary assistants, then flower cadavers for your work partner’s birthday, and then one day suddenly there’s the Ritz,” she teased him full of amusement. He blushed, nodding.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said, on the last minute deciding against going along with the joke.

Robin’s eyes widened and her smile dropped.

“Cormoran, no, it’s fine, I was just teasing.”

“I know, but still,” Strike shrugged. “We said we have to be honest with each other, right? We’ve been adamant about it, because if we don’t tell each other the important things then who?”

“Right…” she was disconcerted now. He looked like he had something gigantic to say, and he was mustering the courage. But he looked at his champagne glass and managed a nervous smile, lifting it.

“Well, cheers to you, Robin. I hope thirty is the best year yet, to begin an even better decade,” he said, and she smiled, clinging their glasses. As soon as he’d taken a large gulp of it, he blurted out. “Truth is I couldn’t help myself, buying that dress. I knew it wasn’t a good idea, I knew Matthew would be angry,” she was caught so much by surprise that she nearly spilled the champagne, and instead she set it down slowly, watching him, as he seemed to be making a bigger effort to say those words than anything else he’d ever told her, sometimes even failing to look at her in the eyes. “But Robin you looked… gorgeous in Vashti,” he looked up at her, as if he surprised himself, and Robin blushed, endeared, “I mean, you’re— obviously you’re a beautiful woman, I don’t mean— just that, well, the dress, it looked—,”

“I know,” Robin gave him a small, understanding smile. She wouldn’t have minded watching with amusement until he found the words, through blushing, to tell her how beautiful he found her, wouldn’t have minded hearing it, but ultimately she felt bad the poor man was obviously struggling with sudden shyness and fear of embarrassment like she’d never known him, and felt a loyalty to him big enough to help him out.

Strike sighed, relieved, and nodded.

“I thought that it would be a waste not to buy it, because it wasn’t going to look so good on anyone else, was it?” said Strike, and it was the kind of question that doesn’t expect an answer. “But then you didn’t go anywhere, and then… I guess I realized I had to put professional barriers back on, right? Because you were engaged, later married… and I never wanted to give Matthew any reason to cause you trouble or upset you over false thoughts of an affair with me or something. I wanted it to be perfectly clear our relationship was just professional, keep the peace, don’t make the working environment difficult,” he said, omitting purposely the part where he hadn’t wanted to disrupt his own peace of mind either, holding far too bigger feelings for her than he had been ready to deal with. “I guess I ended up becoming too… distant, perhaps.”

“A little,” Robin shrugged. “But Matthew did take a toll on both of us, I suppose. If you’d have a girlfriend constantly breathing down your neck and bickering with you about me, I guess it would’ve made me uncomfortable too. I wouldn’t have known what to do to avoid disturbing your personal life.”

“God, if I’d been with Charlotte still…” Strike shuddered at the thought, and drank from his champagne. “I’m changing my number, by the way,” he said suddenly, following the sudden idea that she ought to know, and Robin looked surprised. “It’d take me a while, because I have to let all my professional contacts, family and friends, know the new number before… but I just don’t want for Charlotte to have any access to me any more, at least not that easily. She’s been buggering all year long, and I’m done.”

Robin tried her best not to look as happy about the news as she was, and to pass what she considered a conquest in her favour as simple friendly happiness.

“Good for you.”

“Yeah,” Strike nodded.

“So,” Robin took a sip of her champagne and for a moment meditated going back to the track they’d left behind, finally deciding to pursue it, like she’d do with clues, feeling it was bound to give her something bigger, “was that why you were so cold after the wedding? I came back and it was like…” she tried to put it into words without offending or embarrassing him, feeling it was time to put it all out on the table, plain in the open. “Like I’d offended you somehow. I guess I responded with the same instead of talking about it out of some stupid idea of the moment or something.”

“Oh, that,” again, Strike nodded, and he was nearly finishing his first glass of champagne. “I was offended by you, in an odd way,” he decided to say, and saw the surprise in her eyes, “and I shouldn’t have been. It was idiotic of me, really, like most things I do… but when we hugged at your reception,” and they both froze and locked eyes for a moment, feeling the adrenaline raise as they brought up the one thing they’d consciously tried not to think about for over two years. “Robin, I… I thought you’d leave Matthew. I thought you weren’t going on honeymoon, that you’d go to your parents to organize the fallout and then come back to London, call me… and you told me about the honeymoon, and the coral, and I get it now, but back then I didn’t and I was childish about it, admittedly. I felt disappointed on you, unfairly thinking you weren’t as tough and incredible as I thought you were because you’d stayed with him, thinking you’d have to be… bit stupid for that. It’s the whole reason why I ever even go and find some woman to sleep with, so I wouldn’t have to think any more of how disappointed I was, and sit and wait for you to call me.”

Now it was off his chest, Strike felt both relieved and worried about her reaction. Robin took a deep breath, assimilating it, and nodded.

“And you repaid me with coldness… for months? Even… God, even after the Chiswell case when I thought we were fine, it was just like… we weren’t even friends any more.”

“And I’m very sorry about that, Robin,” he hurried to say, feeling guilty. “Look, I’m a heterosexual man with eyes on my face, and sometimes with certain women… I have to remind myself it’s off limits. I know it’s stupid and that I sound like a teenager, but it’s not less true. And you married him, you chose him, and I had to force myself to pretend not to deny all the things that make you a… well, that would make any man stare at you,” he blushed hard, and her eyes widened. Was he admitting…? “And sometimes,” said Strike, trying to take himself out of the hole he had dug for himself by accident, “sometimes when you’re trying to mark strict barriers with someone so that you don’t end up doing something stupid that costs a valuable friendship, a work relationship and a marriage, you may cross the line a little and get a bit too distant. I was just trying to protect what we have, Robin. All this time,” he said sincerely, thinking he’d managed to not confess any hidden feelings, “I was just trying to remind myself we’re friends and period. Like, men think with the dick sometimes, it’s true, but when I think with my brain I know what cannot happen and barriers… help keep more… adult instincts at bay, if you catch my drift.”

“Cormoran, in all honesty I’m just trying to see you as a forty year old man and not a teenager right now,” said Robin, leaving a hint of amusement so he’d know she wasn’t mad. “Are you saying we can’t be more friendly or closer friends just because if we might you may not able to keep yourself from… trying to seduce me or something? Because I’m attractive?” she tried to sound incredulous, but she hoped deep inside that was exactly what was going on.

Cormoran had turned a deep shade of crimson and refilled his champagne, downing half on one go.

“I’ve just never had a female work partner that was… you know. So nice,” Robin snorted a laugh, remembering how years behind he’d been so drunk he’d kept saying how nice she was, and he seemed to remember too, smiling a little in amusement, and then seeing her break into full nervous snigger. “Believe me I hate it the most, it’s like telling Matthew he was right, makes me sick.”

“What about Michelle? What about Ilsa? You’re surrounded by young, female employees objectively desirable…”

“One, Ilsa’s like my sister, we grew up together and she’s married to someone who’s like my brother, I simply can’t see her that way, it’s like Lucy,” said Strike, sharing her evident amusement and deciding mocking himself a little was the best way of getting out alive. “And Michelle’s nice but… she pales in comparison.”

“Cormoran Blue Strike,” Robin, deeply flattered and at the same time feeling her heart accelerate, trying to decide whether he was flirting or merely stating a fact, whether he was trying to confess deeper feelings. “Are you saying you find me _that_ desirable?”

Strike blushed harder and looked down like a shy child.

“Come on don’t act so surprised, cannot be news to you, Ms Detective. Who doesn’t find you desirable? Gay men, your brothers, and straight women, I’m sure that’s all.”

She felt her face hot like an oven and wondered whether champagne wasn’t being good to them.

“That’s… woah. Well, thank you, I guess.”

“I mean it’s nothing— I’m just stating a fact, Robin, it’s merely a matter of perception. Just like…” he decided to go and be bold and daring, gotten to this point. “You find me a desirable man, don’t you?”

“Me?” Robin blushed harder. _Oh no. Oh, don’t make me even think…_

“I’m a veteran. Lately I’m fit, I’ve lost weight,” said Strike. “Gone to the gym and everything, I’ll have you know, so the leg’s better. And I’m clean and tidy and make sure to keep a good appearance. If I can so easily find women to sleep with, as it turns out I can,” he got a little smug, “it’s obvious I’m attractive. Maybe not… maybe not the type of handsomeness of models, but there’s something there, uh?” Robin was speechless, petrified. “And I’m the closest straight male companion you have, so you have to have noticed.”

“I, uh—,”she gulped, and decided that if he’d been able to say it without it meaning anything, so could she. “I mean, I guess. Yeah, you… you’re not unattractive, for sure.” Strike took that as a compliment, and grinned, smug, feeling a lion soaring inside. “Oh sod off… last we needed, feed your ego…” she joked, and he laughed. She smiled tenderly at him.

“There’s nothing bad with noticing a friend’s attractiveness,” said Strike at last, looking thoughtful. “Sexual instinct is so primitive, we can’t go around pretending to just be immune to it. But it’s all here,” he tapped his temple. “Like, Matt should’ve said, ‘oh, I’m attracted to this Sarah, but guess what? My wife’s my everything’ and then just don’t act on it. I’m sure Nick and Ilsa openly mention when someone’s attractive, but they look at the other and notice they already got the best option. Like when you’re buying beer and surely they’re all great, you could do with them, but Doom Bar is the one, you know?”

“You’re a tad bit drunk,” said Robin trying not to laugh. Strike snorted a laugh.

“Maybe.”

“But I get what you mean. It’s psychology, isn’t it? It’s like when one has a very attractive sibling, you look, acknowledge it, don’t act on the sexual impulse because it’s family, and we have brains to limit ourselves.”

“Exactly.”

“So why do we limit ourselves?” added Robin, feeling like if she had gotten so far, she ought to continue pressing. Strike looked up as if she had slapped him, shocked. She was both afraid and excited about what could happen if she played her cards right, but the faint memory of Tarot insisting on love, and the fact that she was thirty and getting lonely, and he was making her a little horny, seemed to take over any other rational thought.

“Sorry?” Strike asked, baffled. Was she trying…?

“You think I’m attractive. I think you’re attractive. We’re both single. We’re both available,” recounted Robin, with a bravely that made her heart tremble in trepidation. “And we get along right. I know, the cliché of best friends not being able to stay best friends is annoying, but clichés are clichés for a reason, because sometimes they work, look at Nick and Ilsa. Happiest couple we know, been together since their teens pretty much. And you and I… who’s going to understand each other better, Cormoran? Who’s honestly going to come that shares our passions as much as one another, that fits better? We’re such a good team because we have undeniable chemistry, because we fit like two pieces in a puzzle. Why not… get something more?”

Strike’s tongue had completely dried out and his heart was on the edge of a heart attack, so he closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe deeply.

“Robin,” he said tenderly, “I feel you, I do,” he admitted, and extended a hand over the table to caress hers, his eyes suddenly pained. “But you know why. We’re a decade apart, chances are romantically we’re going to want entirely different things, in life even… and you’ve seen me with Elin and Lorelei, I’m a shit boyfriend. I don’t work for long-term established commitments, truth is I treasure the freedom I have and coming to my attic after a long day and be alone without feeling compromised with anyone. And you deserve better, we both know that. Would you really want to start something with me that you know will end up badly, and risk our friendship, our partnership, everything we’ve sacrificed so much to build for so many years?”

Robin looked down, suddenly feeling stupid. It was the very first time they acknowledged mutual attraction, certain feelings, and the fact that they’d both thought about the possibility of something else between them. And still, now, it was clearer than ever why it couldn’t happen. But them, something occurred to her.

“But I don’t need anything serious either,” she murmured. Strike’s eyes widened.

“Don’t you?”

She shook her head, sincerity written all over her eyes.

“It gets lonely when there’s no one else, and we… we understand the job. The loneliness it gives sometimes. We could make each other company, no strings attached, no need for any of us to sleep around with people we don’t really know nor trust, or to worry about keeping a partner happy, or trying to find time for dates or flirting. All we really need as human beings, in an innate way, is to keep our sexual beings as happy as everything else, and a satisfied sexual life has been scientifically proved to help mental performance, key for our work. So why not?”

“Because once you start kissing someone, and sleeping with them, and specially if you care like we care, feelings inevitably flourish, Robin. And then possessiveness and before you realize, goodbye friendship and all else. I tried with Lorelei, she fell in love and I hurt her proper, I don’t have any desire to hurt you like that.”

At last, Robin decided to drop it. After all, this was her birthday, they ought to be celebrating and having fun, and not completely ruining their friendship, that finally seemed stable.

“All right, you’re right, it’d inevitably get complicated and screw us up,” she conceded, although the mere thought made her stomach clench awkwardly. She squeezed his hand over the table and managed a smile. “But you gotta promise me something.”

Strike smiled at the change of mood.

“What?”

“No more stupid shit Cormoran. We’re best friends. Keep your dick in place and treat me as such, and get some self control when I do the same.”

The bluntness of her statement made him laugh and, suddenly somewhat cheerful, Strike nodded.

“All right, deal. Now, how many glasses do you need to get drunk and then we can go enjoy the city?”


	2. Under a London skyline

**Chapter 2: Under a London skyline.**

“—and that’s where Lucy lost her last milk tooth,” Strike was saying, pointing at a bench in Hyde Park as he and Robin strolled around the park, both somewhat tipsy from champagne. “We were playing tag and she didn’t see the bench coming, looking back to see if I was near. The tooth was already a bit loose and she nearly gulped it.”

Robin sniggered, her coat tightly wrapped around herself. They’d been sharing childhood anecdotes for the past hour, and she had never felt so united to Strike, so much like they were truly best friends, knowing about each other’s lives and pasts and making each other laugh with silly stuff until their bellies ached. She also enjoyed seeing London through Strike’s fond eyes, learning about the ins and outs and the stories and culture from someone who wasn’t a royal pedant like Matthew had been.

“Let’s sit here,” proposed Robin, pointing to the same bench where Lucy had lost her tooth, in front of The Serpentine and its ducks floating in the water. “It’s nice tonight. No rain for once.” She commented, looking up at the sky in an attempt to find a star. Strike caught her intention and chuckled.

“No stars like in Masham, isn’t it?” Robin grinned.

“Not really,” they fell into a comfortable silence. They’d fetched some dinner and beers at a pub shortly before, and now Robin contemplated the dark park, marvelled at how safe to actually enjoy spaces at night she felt by Strike’s side. “Never been out here this late. It’s nice.”

“That’s because we haven’t entered the trouble hours yet, and it’s Thursday,” Strike sighed, contemplating the ducks. “Must suck being a woman sometimes, doesn’t it? Sometimes I forget not everyone looks like a murderous giant to scare people off when it gets uncomfortable.”

Robin snorted a laugh.

“And then you’re just a sweet giant inside,” she commented.

“Yes but don’t reveal my secret, I have a reputation to maintain,” he joked, making her chuckle at him. Suddenly she broke into song. “ _A good sword and a trusty hand, a merry heart and true! King James's men shall understand, what Cornish lads can do. And have they fixed the where and when? And shall Trelawny die? Here's twenty thousand Cornish men will know the reason why!_ ”

Strike smiled warmly, joining her for the last bits.

“I didn’t teach you that much of it,” he commented afterwards, as they laughed.

“I’m a detective,” she said smugly.

“One of the best ones,” he conceded, making her blush. His flattery always made Robin feel specially warm inside. “Don’t you guys have any particular Yorkshire song you could teach me?” secretly, Strike had just enjoyed hearing her singing, not entirely in tune but not entirely out of it, finding it charming, and wanted to hear it again.

Robin pursed her lips in thought.

“None nearly as good but… my grandfather, who was a miner, I remember he’d sing…” Robin narrowed her eyes in the reflection of the moon in the water as she concentrated in her memories. “ _Ore's a-waiting in the tubs, snow's upon t'fell,_ _c_ _anny folks they're sleeping yet but lead is reet to sell,_ _c_ _ome, me little washer lad, come, let's away,_ _w_ _e're bound down to slavery for fourpence a day. It's early in the morning we rise at five o'clock,_ _l_ _ittle slaves come to the foot to knock, knock, knock. Come, me little washer lad, come, let's away,_ _i_ _t's very hard to work for fourpence a day…_ ”

Strike listened quietly, eyes fixed on her as her voice trailed softly through the night. His mind had gone blank, and all he could think of was that he was enjoying the moment, and her presence, very much. He loved getting to know a new side of her, one he suspected nobody else knew.

“Did you like your grandfather?” he asked at last, after leaving a moment of silence one the last verse came to an end.

“He was all right,” said Robin, nodding.

“I thought your family were… farmers. Because of your uncle’s farm.” He commented.

“Oh,” Robin nodded, and smiled a bit. “Mum’s family was. Her parents had inherited a farm from my Mum’s own grandfather, up in Masham, so they grew up there. But it’s not your typical farm, it’s mostly… horse breeding, for competition, my Grandpa was a known jockey in Masham, went all around the country competing. Grandma was too, but once she had kids, you know how things were at the time, she just settled home to take care of them. They also had agriculture, not many animals really. Dogs, the horses, some chickens… Then my Grandma died young, riding accident when my Mum was little.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, Mum said it was very rough,” Robin nodded. “And then it was just her, Uncle Jason, who’s a year older, and a younger sister, the one who lived in Boston,” Strike nodded, remembering. “And Grandpa, who took over the farm, the family and the horses. Mum and her siblings were good riders too, competed for a bit, then settled down. Uncle Jason married a teacher and inherited the farm, his sisters didn’t really want it, and he loved it the most, so…” she shrugged. “My cousin Katie, who’s my closest, is actually Jason’s daughter, eldest of two. My Aunt’s a married lesbian, childless but mother of several dogs, and traveller, she’s a translator for French. And Dad comes from a family of miners and teachers, many teachers in the family actually. Grandpa was a miner, Grandma was a nursery teacher, they had my Dad and another boy, younger than my Dad, who’s an architect in Manchester, with three kids, all grown. Don’t see them much actually, haven’t seen them in years. But yeah, Grandpa was a miner, his Dad was a miner… my Dad says all he used to tell them was to please don’t become a miner too. He developed lung disease and died when I was a child, while my maternal Grandpa died when I was a bit older, I left Uni for that actually, and then I just never came back. So I never knew my maternal grandparents really, got a photo with Grandma when I was a toddler but I don’t remember her much. She made pies, that I remember. And my paternal Grandma died in my teens, she was pretty fine woman, the most feminist I’ve known,” she added with a chuckle, “plenty of character. Used to threaten us with her cane if we were too lazy, but only jokingly. And Grandpa was very quiet, serious, but he was great. Had the best bed time stories.”

Strike smiled softly.

“Big family, isn’t it? How many cousins have you got?”

“Oh…” Robin half smiled, touched by his interest. “Katie, her sister Anna, and on my father’s side, there’s Damien, Lucas, and Nicole. I think Nicole’s still in Uni, but I might be wrong.”

“And what do your parents do for a living? I realize I never asked,” said Strike, remembering his curiosity at the wedding. “Your Dad looks like a teacher.” Robin snorted a laugh.

“He was! He was actually our Geography teacher when we were in school,” said Robin. “But he got tired of it, said he was too old, and now he just likes reading, going on walks… serves as a local tourist guide during holiday season. And Mum works the farm with her brother sometimes, but she’s actually a nurse. Works at the local surgery.”

“Oh…” Strike nodded slowly. “It fits. She’s always seemed like a caring person.”

“She is,” Robin elbowed him playfully. “What about your family? Have you got a dozen cousins in Cornwall?”

“Not at all, we’re actually a very small family,” said Strike, glancing at her. “Now’s just Ted actually,” it seemed to dawn on him suddenly. “They could never have children, Ted and Joan. Bit like Ilsa and Nick actually, there was nothing they wanted more. But Ted was a soldier then, and then Mum went having kids young, had me when she was twenty-three, Lucy at twenty-five. And she was constantly leaving us with Ted and Joan so, eventually, they were just our surrogate parents, didn’t have kids of their own.”

“What about your grandparents?” asked Robin, who didn’t want him thinking of Leda too much, getting sad about his Mum. “Was your Grandpa a sailor?”

“Yeah, lifeguard like Ted,” said Strike, nodding. “But I didn’t know him, or Grandma.”

“No?” Robin frowned. It seemed weird they’d be dead by the time he was born, having in count how young Leda had been.

“No, you see… apparently, they had kids being old. I mean, not like sixty, but Ted says his Dad was older, maybe late forties when Ted was born, and his Mum was nearly a decade younger. They hadn’t succeed having kids after Ted, and then when Ted was five or so, my Mum was born. It was a surprise, their Mum was nearly menopausal by then, but she was a welcome surprise. However, something went wrong and she died shortly after giving birth, within days.”

“Bugger…” said Robin, frowning, and her accent nearly made Strike smile in spite of the conversation. He loved it when she said that.

“And Grandpa took it badly. Left with nearly a teen and a newborn, he didn’t know what to do. So Ted did his best, pretty much took over and raised Mum, since their Dad had work to do, provide for the household. And when Ted was a teenager, and Mum an older child, their father began to drink a bit too much. Became a full blown alcoholic, missed his wife and my Mum had grown to be such a beautiful girl, a lot like her own Mum so I guess it reminded him of her. And so Ted says one time, he caught him, staring at Mum while she was bathing in the beach. Ted told me the man had been drunk, like he always seemed to be, and Mum had been playing with friends, running around in her bathing suit, and he saw their father… touch himself discreetly over his clothes.”

“No!”

“Yep,” Strike popped the ‘p’, disgusted himself. “Ted took him home, and ripped him a new one. Then Grandpa got… well, like I said he was wasted, and he tried to hit Ted, who was already boxing, I pretty much copied him in everything. And Ted punched him, broke his nose, kicked him out of the house. He was scared he’d do something to Leda, you see? Mortified, ‘cause it wasn’t the first time he’d caught him staring in a sexual way, and the man wasn’t even denying the accusations. He had become violent verbally, too, shouting at Mum and Ted all the time until they hated him, and a few days after Ted kicked him out and took over raising Leda completely, their Dad appeared dead, threw himself off a cliff, far from St. Mawes.”

“You’re kidding,” Robin’s eyes widened. Strike shook his head, and she looked at him in shock. “He killed himself? What did Ted do?”

“He was furious,” said Strike. “I never asked him much about it because I could see he got very angry and upset about it, still does, even though he’s not an angry man. He’s usually the calmest and most collected man you’ll meet, that’s where we’re different. But Ted says everything is his Dad’s bloody fault, that if he hadn’t been a coward, if he’d taken being kicked out as a call for help and gone get better, come back to be a decent father and look after his kids properly, Mum wouldn’t have turned out so badly. Ted did his best with Mum but… sometimes he blames himself. Says he should’ve done better, but what can you do as a teen? Very little.”

“You’d know that, you took care of your Mum at the same age, didn’t you?” Robin asked softly, her curiosity taking the best of her. Strike was never so open, and she feared this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

“Yeah,” Strike nodded. “Funny how history repeats itself sometimes, isn’t it? So Ted did his best with Leda, and once she left to live the adventure, he went to the army, became the responsible one. Dated Joan in his short times home, wasn’t gone long really, had a short career because of Mum, mainly. ‘Cause then he got wind she was pregnant, and he knew he had to come back or I’d turn out God knows how. He always assumed it’d fall on his shoulders to raise another kid, tried to get Mum to change, but she wouldn’t listen. I don’t know if she was traumatized herself by their parents, I’ve no idea, but truth is every man she had wasn’t too different from her own Dad. Drugs and alcohol all over.”

“There’s a theory, that women tend to go for men similar to their fathers, and men for women similar to their mothers.”

“I’d believe it,” said Strike. “Go for what feels like home, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose.”

“So… Ted married Joan, they bought their house with an extra couple rooms, thinking one for a kid, one for maybe me, if I did end up with them. And they became wonderful parents after all. We got lucky to have them.”

“You did,” Robin nodded. “Speaking of kids… do you know what happened to Switch?” Strike turned to her, surprised, and she blushed deeply. “I googled Whittaker. I’m sorry… it was for the Ripper and…”

“It’s fine,” Strike smiled softly and shook his head. “I guarantee you it’s the one thing Lucy, Ted, Joan and I felt the worst about. He was stolen, Whittaker’s diplomat grandfather got him, not sure he was a nice guy having in count what his daughter and grandson turned out to become. But he had the money we didn’t, best lawyers, as much as Ted and Joan tried, they couldn’t get the custody and we learned to move on. I’ve searched for him, sometimes, when I was a soldier… but he’s completely underwater, like he never existed. Then I figured he’d look for us eventually, but he’ll be… twenty two, this year, and he hasn’t.”

“You could search for him now, we could do it together,” Robin offered. “I’d be happy to.” Strike sighed, nodding.

“I’ve thought about it, but then again… I’m not sure how good it’d be to find him. If he ended up badly, it’ll be another big blow for the family, we’ve felt guilty enough. And if he ended up nicely, then what does it help him to know what he missed out on? What if we don’t get along? I mean we’re basically strangers, like my Rokeby siblings, we know we’re all alive and well and still can’t stablish any sort of relationship. And Switch’s a Whittaker, what if he’s a complete arrogant dickhead like his father? So perhaps it’s best to never know.”

“Well, if you even change your mind,” Robin took his hand gently. “You know I’m on your corner.”

Strike smiled down on her, touched.

“Thanks Robin. And if you ever want to investigate any crap on Matthew we can ruin his life with, I’m on your corner too.”

Robin couldn’t help letting out a loud laugh, partially out of surprise, and Strike laughed with her. Slowly the laughter quieted down and Robin leaned against his shoulder. He moved, wrapping his arm around her shoulders over the back of the bench, and she relaxed against his side, closing her eyes, feeling safe. Home.

“Do you think Rokeby’s going to die from prostate cancer?” she asked after a long time.

“It’s… possible. He surely won’t be having more kids.”

“And you think… you can live with the resentment forever? I mean… you have quite the anger boiling inside, ready to spill when you have a few too many bad days in a row, I’ve noticed. Don’t you want to do something to give yourself more peace of mind?”

“What would that be?” Strike asked rhetorically. “You know how it is. Matthew, your rapist… you have a fucking load of reasons to get furious, but you don’t. You learn not to think about it and get worked up constantly, you learn to try and focus on the good things, get some joy and peace out of life. Works the same way for me. It’s not forgetting, it’s not forgiving… it’s not pretending those people didn’t happen to us. It’s letting the past in the past and focusing on the present and the future. Anger… it comes and goes. You know what really makes me lose it?”

“What?” she inquired, opening her eyes and looking up at his moonlight profile. He was staring at the horizon absently, and she thought he looked really handsome.

“Egocentrism and selfishness,” said Strike, and looked down on her, connecting their eyes. “When they were constantly knocking at my door with Joan dying, not giving a shit, not stopping to consider maybe my life just wasn’t in the right place, maybe I didn’t feel like partying, that was incredibly offensive and hurtful. Haven’t spoken to Al since, actually. And to think they’ll be mad at me and playing victim, saying I’m selfish and unforgiving… that shows they don’t really care about me, because if they did, they’d stand on my shoes for two seconds, see the childhood Rokeby gave me and my sister, see the pain he put my own mother through, their mothers had money and more decent life, with or without Rokeby they were fine. I was poor. I was miserable. And they don’t give a shit. And they don’t give a shit about how busy my job makes me because their entitlement makes them see themselves as superior beings, the ones with a right to be busy, that makes me furious. But I can focus on that, and think of Whittaker, and break somebody’s face or… I can focus on the good. The aunt that loved me, the uncle that sees me as the son he never had, the sister who can be fucking annoying but who won’t ever forget my birthday and a handwritten card, the nephew who adores me for some odd, inexplicably reason, my great friends, our agency… and you,” he gulped a knot that had suddenly and unexpectedly settled in his throat, and cleared his throat. “That’s putting things in perspective and at the end of the day… there are far more reasons to be happy than not. Even if I still forget most of the time and I’m a grumpy old bastard, it’s part of the charm.”

Robin let out a giggle, nodding.

“You’re a really good man, Cormoran,” Robin commented. “That’s what I really like about you, knowing you’re the most trustworthy person there is, because you’ve got integrity. Most people in this city don’t, they’re… you put it perfectly. Self entitled, selfish, egocentric… but you put things in perspective. You know who needs help for real and give it, sometimes for free, you know who deserves your attention, and you have some kind of honour code, which is more than we can say for most people. And fine, you drive me mad sometimes, true, but…” she admitted with a chuckle, and he laughed, his deep guffaws filling the silence. “At the end of the day I know you mean well, even when you fuck up. I know you don’t like hurting people.”

“At risk of repeating myself too much… you’re a very nice person, Robin. And I’ll tell you something I don’t tell anyone,” he added, leaning closer to her. “When you look at me with those generous eyes, and hold me at such high place… you make me want to be that man. Plus I know you hate lying, so… I like trying to be what you think I am, and then nobody can tell you’re a liar, because then it’ll be true, right?”

“But it’s always true. You just undermine yourself.”

“I wasn’t much of a good man to Lorelei. Or Elin…”

“Haven’t you thought,” said Robin, looking into his eyes. She couldn’t see them clearly in the dark, but felt where they were, “that perhaps you always were, but thought less of yourself for not being who they wanted you to be? It’s like…” she pointed at the moon. “If the moon felt like a bad moon because it’s not full of light and warmth like the sun, when it’s exactly what it’s supposed to be, no matter how much some people want to insist it’s being a bad sun. Well it’s not the sun. It’s the moon. And every day needs a night, doesn’t it?”

“I’ve never seen it that way,” said Strike thoughtful, feeling incredibly touched for some odd reason. “I guess I just see myself disappointing people all the time. Wasn’t good enough for Rokeby, wasn’t rich and celebrity enough for Charlotte, wasn’t in love with Lorelei when she was with me, Lucy’s constantly wishing I was different… I’m not a self-pitying man, it’s not that, you know that, it’s just… I am used to not really being what people want me to be and just learned not to give it too much importance. Never really thought maybe I’m just what _I_ need to be.”

“I feel the same way sometimes,” Robin admitted, thinking of her family in Masham.

“Do you? But you’re wonderful!”

Robin snorted a laugh.

“Ask in my home town, I’m the gossip of the town. Everyone thinks I cheated on Matthew with you and that’s why he cheated on me, did you know? Even my family had their doubts when I came over for Christmas,” she confessed. “So I decided not to go this year. Sick of trying to fit in what they want me to be, at the cost of not being myself.”

“Shit… I had no idea,” Strike frowned. “That sucks. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Robin shrugged. “I spent the entire year frustrated because Katie says I just go in a different direction than anybody else and I wasn’t sure that was a good thing, and then I realized it is. Now, I know you and I, Cormoran… we’re like salmons. We swim in a different direction, but that’s our nature, and just because a shark doesn’t look like a goldfish, it doesn’t mean that there’s something wrong with them. It means we’re different. And if we don’t learn to love that and be happy with it, even at the cost of people feeling disappointed… then who’s going to? Perhaps it’s not us who should be wondering how to fit in, but them that should be learning to accept this is who we are, and love it. Take it or leave it, not our problem.”

“I’ll say it for the rest of my life,” said Strike, feeling lighter than he’d felt in a long time. “Psychology’s loss is _my_ fucking win.”

Robin laughed, and felt her heart accelerate when his lips pressed against her hair, before he settled his bearded cheek there. It was home, and there was no need to move, or to say a word, as the minutes passed by and nobody was in any sort of hurry.


	3. Desire

**Chapter 3: Desire.**

When they finally decided it was time to go home, they went back to the pub for a last beer and a toss in the honour of Robin’s thirty. They hadn’t forgotten all they had talked, more than in all the years they’ve known each other, all the walls that had been taken down to put them in one same room under one same rooftop, but they decided more complicated decisions and conversations about deeper feelings could wait. The fear of losing each other lingered, and so as much as it felt like a long date, a perfect day, when Robin began to look tired and Strike could tell her feet hurt, he knew he’d take her home and wouldn’t kiss her at the door.

He walked her the long walk to Finborough Road, and insisted to go upstairs to her actual flat door, just to make sure nobody lurked in the dark, so late at night. Robin rolled eyes but was happy to earn an extra couple minutes with him, so she agreed and once they reached her doorstep, she held the door to her flat open for him, leaning against it, showing off her curves. She didn’t miss the way Strike’s eyes lingered over her body.

“Max and Wolfgang are in Kent, filming, won’t be back until tomorrow evening for the dinner. Do you want to… have some tea before you go back home? It’s a long way back, and we just walked a long time. Perhaps you want to take your prosthesis off for a while and sit with me for a little longer.” She proposed, staring at him with the full light of the hall. He looked tired, but so fine in his suit, his recent beard framing his face nicely, and she wasn’t feeling like letting him go just yet.

“Uhm,” she saw him gulp as his eyes focused on her cleavage for a bit too long. Still, she didn’t feel uncomfortable, she felt admired. There was a way in which Strike looked, different from builders whistling across the street, one more respectful and contained, one he usually kept in check unless he had a few drinks. They weren’t drunk because they’d eaten, done some walking to freshen up, and spaced the drinks properly during the day, but a bit tipsy was good. Robin had a lesser tolerance to alcohol, but she’d also drank much less.

“There’s a comfy sofa,” Robin insisted. “I could even drive you later, the car’s just downstairs, if you’re tired. Just one tea?”

A t last, Strike nodded.

“Right, okay,” he walked inside and they put their coats and his jacket in the entry rack, because it was warm and cosy inside. He wasn’t sure where this was going, but he didn’t want to go and he was past the point of thinking too much, so he didn’t feel remorse when his eyes lingered on Robin’s ass as she got rid of her heels and led him upstairs to the sitting room.

As he sat and removed his shoes and his leg, putting them gently by the side of the sofa, Robin made them tea and returned, barefoot, her hair loose, and her blue dress hugging her body in a way that seemed taken from a dream, and they sat together. She had put the bag with the new perfume in her room and sprayed herself one last time, and now Strike caught the whiff of it and felt they had chosen far too well.

They did small talk while they drank tea, mostly enjoying the warmth, the cosy environment and their mutual company, not feeling a real need for complex conversation, and when it was time to go, Strike put back his leg and shoes and Robin went to wash their cups. They met downstairs, as Strike went to get his coat.

“Thanks for everything, Strike,” Robin said, using the new word she’d been using for him lately, and he turned to see her smirking softly, leaning against the wall. “I hadn’t had such a wonderful day in years.”

“Anytime,” Strike nodded, and then walked over, their hugs now normalized somehow, and still feeling incredibly special when they tightened their grip on each other and Robin buried her face on the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. They’d closed their eyes and didn’t seem ready to let go. “Happy birthday again, Robin. Make sure this year is the best one yet, uh?” he pressed a sound kiss against the side of her head, still hugging her. “Make sure next year, when you go back to Masham, nobody can look at you with pity, ‘cause you’re a rock star.”

H is words touched her unexpectedly, and she felt a flutter inside and emotion caught in her throat. She wanted to tell him so many things, that they didn’t all fit through the door at once. She wanted him to know how special he’d make her feel, how incredible this birthday had been, how much she appreciated him wanting to change to be a more attentive and caring friend, how safe and home he made her feel, how much she admired and respected him, how much value he had in her eyes, and, she realized… how much she  _loved_ him. As realization hit her, so clear Robin could no longer deny it, not even to herself, she opened her eyes in sudden shock, and separated, her arms still over his shoulders, searching for his eyes. Strike looked at her and frowned slightly, wondering why she looked so shocked all of a sudden, worried he might’ve offended her.

“I— I…” Robin blinked, and shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. It was like all the words were accumulating in the back of her throat and she couldn’t pick which one to let out first.

“Robin, you ok—?”

And suddenly, the answer was clear, and immediately, Robin acted on it, wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, and slammed their lips together.  The answer wasn’t a word, she realized, but a gesture. She felt his lips, soft and spongy and thin against hers, his beard tickling her face, and closed her eyes, feeling as if this should be feeling wrong, yet it seemed like the most right thing she’d ever done, and far from a mistake. Like as their lips pressed hard together, with an unmatched intensity, her heart relaxed, and she was home. It was as if she’d been standing at the edge of a plane’s doorstep, with her parachute in her bag, dying to experience the adrenaline and pleasure of floating in the air and enjoying the views, yet she’d been too scared to jump, and now she had, and she was in the clouds, and everything looked bright and beautiful and she wondered why she hadn’t done it sooner.

S trike’s hands separated from her, as he was shocked, himself, but she didn’t let go. The way Robin understood it, he’d given her that dress hoping to convey a multitude of feelings he hadn’t known how to express, and now kissing him felt like the most honest thing she could do to express all she wanted to say, and all he meant to her.  At last, Strike, who had forgotten how to put two thoughts together, pressed his hands firmly against her sides, and separated, his forehead against hers as they recovered their breaths.

What wouldn’t Strike have given to make love to her that night? When for a moment the world had seemed to stop rotating and everything had suddenly clicked, and he had wondered why he’d ever thought this was wrong, how could a thing that felt so right be any bad?

“We talked about this,” he sighed, and she nuzzled her nose against his, her eyes gazing into his. “We can’t. It’s too risky. We could lose everything.”

“Will it be worth it?” Robin muttered, her voice hoarse from emotion.

“What?” he murmured, seeking her eyes, feeling her breath against his chin, their arms still around each other.

“Will our careers, our agency, be worth denying our hearts, spending our lives alone or with the wrong person, never knowing if we could’ve been everything we’d been searching for? Will our jobs always satisfy us so much we can live going to bed with the wrong person, who doesn’t get it, who doesn’t understand what we have like we do?” her eyes got glassy, and Strike frowned lightly. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. “What I feel for you is not a joke, Strike. But if you can promise me right now the future we’re going to have with other people, only joined by friendship and our agency, will be worth the pain of knowing we didn’t even try, even when this right know felt everything but wrong and you know it, if you can promise me that, in all honesty, then I’ll believe you, and I’ll separate, and I’ll pour all my efforts into friendship and camaraderie of colleagues, and believe this was for the best. Look at me in the eyes, and promise.”

“I…” Strike ached inside, looking into her eyes. He saw so many things, but also so much affection, so much adoration, like he’d never seen. Like she was looking at him like nobody ever had. “I can’t.” He realized. He had thought Charlotte was the one. He had been sure about marrying her. How could he trust not being with Robin was right? How could he turn back, see her the next day, or on Monday at the office, forever remembering this night, their hugs, their kiss, and their first half kiss years back, and one day see her with another man, and think they’d ended up gaining something better at the risk of sacrificing what they could’ve had?

“Then don’t fucking dare to let me go,” she said, for the first time conscious of what she’d done, what they’d just done, and how this was all or nothing. They’d jumped, and if they didn’t find the parachute really soon, they were going to slam hard against the ground and cause irreparable damage. “Not when I know you want me as much as I want you. Not when you know as well as I do this isn’t some… poorly matured, alcohol-inspired, hook up. When we know this is real. And it’s been staring at our faces for ages, everyone seeing it before us, the detectives. Don’t let me go.” She pleaded, almost begging, and a tear fell down her cheek, and Strike had never felt more conflicted. He closed her eyes and held her tighter, and then kissed her forehead and held her a little closer.

“I don’t want to, but I don’t want to lose you. You don’t know the shit boyfriend I usually am. We have an agency. Employees that depend on us. We’ve sacrificed everything. We can’t ruin it all, we can’t…”

“Then we won’t. We’ll figure it out, together, like we always have. We’ll pull through, like we pulled through the rockiest times of the agency. We have each other, that’s always been all we needed, ultimately.”

S trike felt his resolve break, he felt the way she kept herself with him, just like she’d done nearly five years before, when he’d been ready to let her go, and she’d insisted on staying.

“Oh, fuck it all,” he muttered, separated, took her face between his hands, and kissed her for all she was worth. He kissed her and kissed her until her back collided with her bedroom door, and their lungs screamed for air. She wasn’t a one night stand. She wasn’t a hook up. She wasn’t some girl. She was Robin. She was his everything. His sun, his moon, and all that mattered, and he couldn’t bear leaving her broken hearted, nor giving to another man what wanted to be with him. She’d made her adult decision, and he was making it, too. If they’d taken an agency in shambles and made a successful business out of it, no matter how many killers tried to sink them, what couldn’t they do? Strike wasn’t religious, but for once, he decided blind belief wasn’t blind and wasn’t lying to himself, not if the object of his belief and devotion was Robin. “Nothing,” he murmured, breathless, holding her face in his big hands, that seemed to fit perfectly against her hands. She looked up at him, breathless, lips swollen, because they’d kissed a bit too hard, “nothing compares to you. And I _refuse_ to fail _you_. Not you.”

“You won’t,” she reassured him, and sniffled, then smiled, shaking her head in his hands. “I trust you. I want you, for so long… I would’ve come with you to London if you’d asked me to, would’ve left Matthew right there, wouldn’t have given a shit, because you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Cormoran. You, our agency, what we have… that’s home. And nothing else matters.”

“Then it’ll be just us,” Strike kissed her nose, then her cheek, full of reverence, “us, for as long as you want. Us,” he kissed her lips, and looked at her in the eyes. “And we’ll never have to ask the other to come. We’ll just be there, always. No matter what. You’re right Robin, this… this feels right. This _is_ right. And fear only means we care.”

“Come here,” Robin tiptoed and kissed him again, and this time it wasn’t hard and rushed. This time it was gentle and loving, their lips taking their time to meet each other, and Strike moaned into her mouth, their tongues meeting for the first time. Robin reached a hand behind her to open the door, still trying to keep her focus on his talented, delicious, perfect mouth, his hands travelling across her sides and back, making her skin break into goosebumps beneath the blue fabric, and she walked backwards into her bedroom, closing the door with a kick and pulling him into her until she fell ass first against the bed, head afterwards, bringing him down against her.

He managed to keep his weight on his hands against the mattress, his good knee on the mattress and his other by the side of the bed, his false foot firm on the ground. Then he separated and chuckled when she groaned.

“I need to take off my leg,” he explained apologetic, and in the dark, Robin smiled, letting him move off her. His weight on her had felt so right, and she wondered, just like she’d wondered how she hadn’t been full of panic attacks after leaving Matthew, why wasn’t it triggering or scary. It’d felt more like the warm welcome of Rowntree jumping on her on the sofa after a long trip, or like a thick and heavy blanket on a cold winter. Like it pressed against her in all the right ways.

S he moved to sit on the bed and turn on the lamp on her bedside cabinet, so he could remove his leg, and saw he was also removing his coat again, his jacket and his tie, taking off his shoes. Finally he turned to look at her, and saw her sitting, placid, lips reddened and so desirable he couldn’t think of nothing else.

“No going back now,” she said, smiling softly.

“If you want,” he shrugged. “We could not have sex, if you want. I mean… I know it’s tricky for you, and I’m already very happy just kissing you until we fall asleep.”

His thoughtfulness touched her a little further, in case she needed any further convincing. It was true sex had always been more a chore than nothing else, but that was with Matthew. Strike had a reputation, how many women were constantly after him? He  _had_ to be worth trying. Otherwise it was like walking by the Natural History Museum, seeing the giant false dinosaur skeleton at the entry, and not coming inside.

“I do want to have sex, unless you don’t feel like it.”

“Okay,” Strike nodded nervously, and hopped to her, one of his trouser sleeves hanging loosely where there wasn’t a leg to fill it. He sat by her side, and his left hand intertwined with her right one over the edge of the bed. “But we only do the stuff you like, okay? Because I like everything,” he shrugged. “And I don’t want you to do anything you’re not really into. And if there’s something you want me to do, you can tell me too.” He had the impression Matthew hadn’t been a good lover, for some reason. Not like they’d ever discussed their sex lives, but Matthew was a prick, and so he naturally assumed he’d suck at everything.

“Okay,” Robin nodded, and kissed him gently. His hand cupped her jaw and they made out for a few moments, without a rush, just gentle, loving kisses, like their lips going for a hug over and over. Her hand found purchase on his knee and she moved closer, turning her face to kiss him better. After a while, she separated a little and blushed hard in embarrassment. Now she was suddenly conscious of her amateurishness, since she’d never really been excited enough about sex to be more than mostly passive during it, and Matthew hadn’t been adventurous and hadn’t liked her taking the lead. The longer they’d been together, the less he’d spent time on foreplay, and the more he had just pretended for her to just lie there and be fucked. “I’m a little nervous.” She confessed shyly.

“Me too. Never done it with someone I cared so much about.” He realized. Had he cared in this way about Charlotte? He’d loved her, but with ‘buts’. He realized, he didn’t have ‘buts’ about Robin. She was wonderful, period. Not wonderful but insane, wonderful but a liar, wonderful but selfish. She was just wonderful.

“Me neither,” said Robin, and bit her lip nervously. “I feel a little like a virgin. I’m not very good at… sex. Faked more orgasms than I can count, being honest.”

“You were just with the wrong person,” Strike kissed her softly. “I’m going to make you feel so good, Robin,” he murmured, trailing slow kisses across the edge of her jaw. Her eyes closed and she let a little sigh of contentment out. “I promise,” he added, pressing a kiss behind her earlobe. “Just remember we’re not on a race. _This_ is us having sex, already,” he added, before kissing her neck, wrapping his arms around her. “No need to do anything specific. No rush to reach anything but pure pleasure, okay? Don’t you worry, gorgeous. Don’t you worry.”

“Okay,” she felt her body respond to his delicate touch. She felt both hot and cold, her skin breaking in goosebumps, her legs weak, her pulse faster. She had never really gotten too wet, nor felt too hot and dying for sex, but now she certainly felt a craving free or dread that she’d never felt before. Robin knew she was about to know first hand what she’d only known for the bits Ilsa and Vanessa had opened up about their sex lives, and what the internet and the library had been able to teach her without searching pornographic sites, when she was trying to find ways to obtain any pleasure from having sex with Matthew.

S trike’s lips had found the base of her neck, and given such a slight suck of her pulse point, and she’d feel herself gasp, a knee jerking briefly in an involuntary response to sudden, unexpected pleasure.

“Tell you what,” he said then, separating. “What if I get naked first? Then you take your dress off, and we cross the first bridge, uh?”

“Sounds good,” Robin nodded, feeling somewhat relieved. That was good. She’d pulled a bit of weight lately, and if they could just look at each other first, know what there was, and she saw Strike was still interested, she’d feel more confident.

So she sat and watched as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. As the first bits of the dark and fuzzy curly mane of hair that covered his chest and part of his belly began to emerge, and Robin remembered the little glimpses of them she’d had over the years, she felt a gush of heat between her legs. He slowly and confidently removed his shirt. He’d  _lost_ some weight, Robin could tell. His arms were seriously ripped, and he looked muscled in general, probably because losing a leg he’d had to overcompensate with his arms and torso, using the force of his arms to hold himself upright as he hopped around when needed. Still, with the weight he’d had, the muscle hadn’t been so evident. Now, it was more evident, not in the way of body builders (which to Robin had never been sexy) but in the way of a bear. Big, hairy, and you could tell had sufficient strength to cause serious pain if needed.

“Good?” Strike asked, seeing her staring as he removed his shirt, and feeling his blood pressure increase just from the way she was looking at him.

Robin nodded slowly, her eyes trailing over surprisingly tanned and freckled, strong shoulders  and arms. He was so big. Would he be so big…? He was removing his trousers now, and Robin’s heart accelerated as the edge of black, tight boxer briefs came to view. He wore the shorter kind, probably because his thighs looked so strong anything longer was probably uncomfortable, and Robin could see a good bulge, although it didn’t seem like he was hot yet. He stood on one leg to slide the trousers under his arse, and Robin’s throat dried completely, seeing how firm and nice his arse looked. Where did he keep such a good body? Where was this coming from? Robin’s face felt hot, and at last he sat down, and she looked at surprisingly not too hairy legs, and saw his stump. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen it, and it didn’t turn her off in the slightest.

“I think we better leave these on for now,” said Strike, motioning to his underwear. “You good?” he added, seeing she was so quiet.

“I, yes,” Robin cleared her throat. “Honestly I was just wondering… how haven’t I noticed you got _such_ a body?” she commented, and he snorted a laugh. She smiled, the amusement of the situation relaxing her a little. “You’re really handsome.” She added shyly.

“Thanks,” Strike leaned to kiss her again. “Your lips taste amazing. Sorry I’ve ruined your lipstick…”

“It can bugger off,” Robin shrugged, and moved to kiss him again, her hands caressing his strong biceps, reaching his shoulders and then his torso. It was like touching a mountain. Firm, grand, and strong, and it turned her on like she couldn’t believe. Matthew had been slender, attractive by all objective means, but this wasn’t just attractive, this was sexy. “Help me with the zip?” she added, turning around and moving her hair over her shoulder to the front, so he could have a clear view of her zip. His hands gently lowered it, nothing like the roughness Matthew had displayed tearing her Cavalli green dress.

“Your new necklace is really beautiful, did Ilsa buy it for your birthday?” Strike asked casually as her freckled back was exposed and he had to keep his thoughts somewhere where his manhood could stay relaxed. He knew, from Lucy, that seeing a man naked and ready for you could both be flattering, or incredibly scary if you weren’t ready.

“My parents,” replied Robin, trying to ignore the way his calloused fingers brushed a little with her back while manipulating the small zip, making her shiver. What had those hands done in their lives, and what _could_ they do? How many women had they had quivering and screaming beneath their touch? For some reason, Robin imagined many.

“Good taste,” he commented. “Done.”

“Thank you,” Robin stood up and took a deep breath before letting her dress fall to the floor, and then she slowly turned around, facing Strike. His eyes quickly flew from her arse to her eyes, and he gave her the same look she imagined a man would give to a glass of water after forty days lost in the desert with nothing.

It dawned on her now what they were about to do. No looking back. From here on, their friendship would forever change, and their work relationship too. She was about to sleep with her partner, and become _partners_ . In more ways than one.


	4. Yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is VERY hot but also there are heavy mentions of sexual abuse and rape.

**Chapter 4: Yours.**

Slowly, maintaining eye contact, Robin brought her hands to the clasp between her breasts and opened it, sliding her bra down and letting it fall to the floor. She stood then, illuminated by the warm light from her bedside cabinet’s lamp, her skin pink and white, smooth and adorned with freckles and little moles here and there, the hair of her arms a soft blondish fuzz, her neck long and sexy, her clavicles marking softly over generous breasts Strike, who’d always known she had a good body, couldn’t believe she had, and a moderately full abdomen, her little navel next to a tiny mole, right before the edge of tight, black, cotton panties that preceded impossibly long legs. Strike had to remind himself to breathe, because his brain seemed to have a short-circuit.

Strike thought then, briefly, of Charlotte’s naked body, one seemingly sculpted by Gods, and figured Robin had _nothing_ to envy. Yes she wasn’t as fit, as slender, her measures weren’t as book-perfect, but in her particular differences, the ones that made her beauty unique and impossible for a book to describe, laid more genuine beauty than in anything Strike had seen before. He figured Charlotte was like a Siamese, of a kind of undisputable beauty that was nearly boring, and Robin was like a Calico, unique, unrepeatable, like a brand new style of art appearing out of the blue, going years without being properly appreciated, until somebody suddenly realized it was an absolutely legendary art. Didn’t they say, that true art could only be appreciated by the trained eyes? Strike, who had all his life considered Charlotte the most beautiful person he’d ever seen, suddenly realized how true it was, and how wrong he’d been. Charlotte’s beauty was one even a drunk bastard drinking beer sitting on a pavement on a Friday night would see. There was nothing particular about it. Any book would say ‘yes, _this_ is what beauty is supposed to look like’. But it was artificial. It wasn’t realistic. Robin was different. Robin was undeniable gorgeous, but it was an overlooked beauty, one wouldn’t immediately see just with looking, but that would need to sit, pay attention, and let it marvel you.

“Well?” Robin asked, beginning to get nervous when he hadn’t said anything in a while.

“You’re absolutely stunning,” he said sincerely. “Jesus Christ, Robin… fucking hell,” he snorted a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief, looking at her upside down. “Pinch me.”

Robin blushed hard, looking down at herself. She knew she had good breasts, but maybe her waist was a bit too wide? Trousers had felt a bit too tight lately. Her areolae were a little brown, instead of pink. And her thighs were bit too thick…

But before she could over thin kit, he had put one firm hand on her bedside cabinet and held himself on his foot, wrapping a strong arm around her waist and kissing her like she was his water in the desert. She wrapped an arm around his strong torso, buried a hand in his curls just because she’d always wanted to know the feeling, and her breasts pressed against his chest, making them both moan.

The heat had suddenly turned high, very high. Before Robin knew it, they’d fallen on her bed, first him on top, and she was having the best make out session of her life, which set the bar so high she doubted it could possibly get any better. His hands cupped her breasts, and they were big enough to cup them perfectly, his calloused fingers being just the right level of rough for her nipples, that responded instantly, standing proud as his mouth devoured her neck, trying not to leave marks, in an unspoken agreement, because they were having dinner with their friends in less than twenty-four hours. Robin heard an unfamiliar sound of moaning and gasping, and then realized it was herself, and that his mouth was sucking her breasts and she was getting wetter than ever in her life.

“Fuck, _Strike_ , that’s so… good!” she blurted out, and grabbed him hard by the curls, pressing his face against her breasts more. He had half a boob in his mouth, and his tongue was doing things that she didn’t even know tongues could do, his beard tickling her breast, while his other palm drew circles on her other nipple. Her nails caressed his shoulder blades just hard enough to leave soft white lines, and she had a full view of his so muscled back, her legs wrapped firmly around his waist. Up until here, it was already the best sex of her entire life.

Then Strike abruptly separated, heaving for air, and supported on his neck, arms hanging limp on his sides, as he looked down on her with hunger, eyes impossibly dark, lips impossibly red and swollen. His saliva quickly got cold on her nipples, as her chest heaved up and down, making them harder if possible, and she stared at him, her feet on the mattress at each side of him. Now, he was definitely getting a boner, staring at her as if he was trying to decide with which part of a delicious meal he should start.

“Take a picture,” she teased with a smirk, her voice hoarse, “it’ll last longer.”

“Believe me, I’m _trying_ ,” his voice had gotten an octave deeper, hoarse with desire, and then he gently took her hands and kissed them. “Beautiful,” he murmured, “insanely beautiful.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his tenderness and lovingness, and then he gently moved her arms to lie on the mattress, her hands in his over their heads, and he leaned down, placing the weight of his belly gently against hers and giving her the softest, most delicate, slowest kiss she’d ever received, the king of all kisses, the one that made her inhale hard, her nipples brushing his, and feel nothing but adoration. And even though he had her gently pinned down, and she’d imagine she should’ve expected to get nervous about it already, she felt soothed and calm, and when she moved her hands from under his, there was no resistance. Robin caressed his face gently, tenderly kissing him over and over, smiling against his lips as she felt him smile too. They stopped kissing for a moment, and smiled lovingly at each other, eyes warm with affection as she caressed his hair, his cheeks. She felt a little emotional, honestly, and he kind of felt it too. They both knew this was probably the most special night they’d had, not because of the sex, but because they knew they were making love, in a level deeper than carnal. That something invisible between them, their souls perhaps, were connecting in the deepest of ways, finding home, finding comfort, finding understanding and love. So that even if there wasn’t more carnal action that night, it’d remind the first time they’ve felt so connected in a spiritual level, to someone else, ever. It was, after all, easy to connect bodies. Strike’d done it over and over. What was truly difficult, was to find a soulmate, an inexplicable connection beyond Earth.

“I never want to forget this moment,” Robin whispered.

“Me neither,” he moved a hand to move the hair off her face, caressing her cheek, his thumb brushing her lip slightly. “I swear to God, never in my life have I had a more special moment. More perfect.”

“Would you say kairós?” she teased, half smiling. Strike grinned.

“Kairós doesn’t begin to cover it, my wonderful, wonderful Robin. Gorgeous Robin. Very, very nice person Robin.” She chuckled and he kissed her smile, beaming down at her. “I’ve never been so happy.”

“Really?” she asked in disbelief.

“Really,” he nodded. “I’ve got everything I’ve ever needed, right here. Lucky bastard, me.”

“Kiss me.”

“With pleasure.”

As they kissed, they slowly rolled over so Robin straddled him, kissing him trying some of the things he’d done that she’d like, like kissing his neck, his clavicle, fondling his chest a little, and he seemed to enjoy it, closing his eyes and moaning quietly. She smiled down at him, seeing him with his eyes closed and his nipples hard, and took his big hands, moving them to her chest, which he caressed gently, and then sliding them down her back, until they cupped her arse. His eyes opened them and stared at her, squeezing her arse gently.

“Can I take them off?” Strike asked, pulling from her panties gently.

“Yes.”

He brought his hands gently under her panties, cupping her arse, which made her close her eyes and elicited a soft moan, and then he pushed them down and she moved to slide them down her legs, kneeling on the bed next to him. Suddenly Robin realized she hadn’t taken much care of her intimate areas lately.

“Bugger,” she muttered, looking down. She had a soft mane of strawberry-blonde hair, slightly more dark and brownish than the hair on her head. And she was wet, so much a drop had slid down her thigh, to her surprise. “I forgot… I didn’t know I was gonna get laid. I can rush to the bathroom and…”

“Nonsense,” Strike said softly, sitting up. “You look gorgeous. Besides, look at me, do I look like a man who has issues with some hair?” Robin chuckled, shaking her head. “Then don’t worry. For all I care, you don’t ever need to shave.”

“Okay,” she smiled nervously.

Strike came closer to her, both on their knees, and hugged her tight, both moaning when her wetness pressed against his boxer briefs and he _was_ hard, as much as the metallic rod of his leg probably, her breasts against his chest and their arms around each other as they kissed.

“It is okay if I touch you down there?” he asked, because consent is important and sexy. She smiled softly and nodded. “Sure?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“If I do something wrong, you just say stop, and I stop, no problem uh?”

But in which universe could she stop those magic hands? The little yelp she made with his calloused fingers brushed her swollen clit surprised them both, but then she held onto his shoulders and felt her eyes go white, holding onto him for dear life as he moved his fingers expertly in her growing wetness, eliciting such an intensity of waves of pleasure that she was shaking. The sound of his fingers rubbing her nether lips, her clit, and around her entrance was already making her feel on flames, but the _feeling_ was about to strike her like lightning. Before she could say anything, she found herself coming hard, emitting a deep-throated sound she didn’t know she could make before biting his shoulder, collapsing as her private areas convulsed in spasms.

Robin was absolutely sure her duvet was going to end up very dirty, she was sure she was dripping so hard it was nearly embarrassing. Her legs were non functioning, and she found herself gasping for air as if she had run a marathon. The fuck was that?

And Strike, sweet, tender, loving Strike, had wrapped his arms tight around her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, and she could feel how wet she was from his fingers on her back, and smell what she’d just done. She’d had a proper orgasm, an Earth shattering orgasm, and he was holding and supporting her in the most tender of ways.

“Oh God,” she gasped, blinking to focus her vision again. “Oh dear God…”

“You flatter me,” Strike sniggered, and unexpectedly, she let a sob out and his eyes widened, beginning to think if he’d actually fucked up, specially when she began crying in earnest. “Fuck, fuck, Robin, what have I done?” he tried to look at her face, but she was holding too hard onto him. “Robin, I’m so fucking sorry, shit…”

“It’s fine,” she sniffled, suddenly embarrassed, and separated to look at him. He looked terrified. She took deep breaths trying to calm herself. “It’s just I’ve never had… not such a big one.”

“You’re crying because you’ve never come so hard?” Strike tried to understand, and she nodded, sniffling.

“I’m sorry, I’m pathetic…”

“No,” Strike shook her head. “Come her, let’s lie down. Come here…” they cuddled and he let her cry softly while he held her. He’d never slept with someone who had reached thirty after ten years of unsatisfactory sex following sexual assault. He’d never slept with someone with a history of sexual assault, period. And he wanted to understand. “Let’s talk about it, what are you feeling?”

“It’s just…” she took a deep breath, rubbing the tears off her eyes. “That’s why people make such a fuss about sex, isn’t it? Orgasms… they’re supposed to be that hard, right? That’s… you’ve only touched me with your fingers and… so this is how it is like? People… normal people just have so much pleasure like that?”

“Works different for everyone but…” Strike nodded, serious. He’d never hated anyone, not even Whittaker, like he found himself hating that rapist and Matthew in that moment. “Sex is supposed to be pleasurable, Robin, every bit of it. Sex’s not… a race to penetration. Sex doesn’t culminate when a guy orgasms inside of you,” he said softly, caressing her face. “Sex can be a quick eating out—,”

“Eating out?” she asked, confused. “Sorry, I’m so inexperienced…”

“No, it’s fine. It’s when… I’ll do it to you at some point, if you want. It’s when instead of my fingers, I use my mouth. Like a blow job to a woman.”

“Oh,” Robin nodded. “Oh, right, Vanessa told me something about it. It’s a nice thing, isn’t it?”

Strike felt ready to cry, hearing her. He wasn’t a man who cried often, but he couldn’t believe Robin didn’t even know what that was, all because of some stupid men. His eyes filled with tears and he took a deep breath, nodding. He was flaccid again. He couldn’t possibly feel horny when the woman he cared the most about was discovering to him a kind of pain he’d never know.

“How… how come Matthew never…?”

“Well,” Robin shrugged. “He wasn’t my first. The rapist was.”

“Shit…”

“Matthew and I had spoken about… doing it together for the first time, for the both of us. But I was too nervous, when we were teens, so we only had heavy making out, some touching over underwear,” Robin explained, calming herself. “And then after… I couldn’t handle anybody touching me for over a year. Not a hug. Not a kiss on the cheek. Even someone coming too close was bad.” To her surprise, Strike wasn’t looking at her with pity. He was looking at her with something else she couldn’t quite pinpoint, but that she’d seen before, when he’d spoken of terrible things someone had done to a woman during a case.

“How old were you?” he asked.

“Nineteen,” replied Robin. “It happened before the summer. And I was nearly twenty one when I let Matthew kiss me or hug me again without breaking in cold sweat. Turns out the entire time he’d been doing it with Sarah.”

“Fuck…”

“Credit to Matthew though, that when we finally had sex, he was the utmost patient and gentle and understanding, I’ll admit that. But he wasn’t properly informed on how to deal with a woman who’d gone through something like that, and I don’t think he’s that talented at sex anyway. Don’t know, perhaps Sarah thinks differently. Perhaps he just wasn’t with me, I’ve no idea. So at first he touched me a lot, tried to get me more wet, but I wasn’t… I wasn’t entirely ready. It was still really hard for me. But I loved him, wanted him to have it.”

“And he didn’t… think of using his mouth?”

“He tried but,” Robin shrugged. “He said he didn’t really like it, and it actually made me a little uncomfortable, and I didn’t want to do blow jobs either. I think I could count with my fingers how many blow jobs I’ve given him in over a decade together. I was bad at them, I didn’t enjoy them, and I got embarrassed, insecure and worse when I saw he wasn’t loving it either. So we just agreed neither of us would use mouths, just hands… but he was… he doesn’t have the most talented hands. And eventually, he got tired, wasn’t so gentle, slow and patient any more. I don’t know if he stopped caring or if he assumed I was okay to go rough again. Then sex became a chore and orgasms became faked. I’d just lie there and let him have it and try to think of something else. It wasn’t hurtful really, by then it didn’t put me through any actual pain. But I just felt disconnected from my body, and I didn’t get any pleasure. It was like watching porn in front of your parents, I guess? And then when we were happier, maybe I had small orgasms, nothing like I just had, I didn’t understand the fuss. Went online, read books, but you can read everything about sex and it sounds alien until you live it.”

“Of course.”

“And when we weren’t good, in the final years… it was purely a chore. I remember our anniversary, it was just… I felt like checking something off a calendar, today is the turn for sex, so you go and do it,” Robin confessed. “And that was the last time. He said he loved me afterwards, and it just felt like I had to say what I had to say, who cared if I meant it. And I didn’t mean it. I guess that’s part of why he was with Sarah, cause she desired him, she loved him, I didn’t, not any more, and he knew it. I’m sorry I totally ruined the vibe—,”

“You didn’t…”

“I just got really emotional because… it’s so liberating, to have an orgasm like that. To finally know what people were talking about… and kind of makes me angrier at the dude who raped me. Douglas Trewin, fifty-three,” she murmured, staring into space and shaking her head. Strike watched her, eyes wide in horror. “It’s funny ‘cause, I thought getting him life, I’d won. Assault, rape and attempted murder, and he’d never see the light of day. But he lives in a cell with a TV and a toilet, his prison has a gym and a garden, he has three meals a day. I pay for that. State prison, we pay them. _I_ have to worry about working, paying my taxes, providing for survival, having a rooftop over my shoulder… and then having enough money at the end of the month to pay for him, while he doesn’t have to worry about anything for the rest of his life. So who wins now, uh?”

A knot had settled on Strike’s throat, of such size that he could only sit up, cover his face with his hands, and he wept. Robin sat up immediately, shocked. She’d never seen him truly weep. Sure, he’d been nearly the point of crying when Jack was in hospital, but he wasn’t convulsing in sobs like now. Robin felt her own eyes fill with tears, she had always found there was something particularly tragic about seeing men cry, and now she understood why; the toughest, and most unbreakable a person looked, the worst it felt, because you knew it had to take _a lot_ to break them.

“Cormoran, sweetie, don’t cry,” she wrapped her arms around him. “I didn’t want to make you cry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

“Don’t fucking apologize,” he blurted out, sniffling, and turning to look at her. “You’ve done nothing wrong. And I’ve heard… and investigated hells like that before. I’ve seen things that… but I guess… it hit me worse now. Before it was work. You keep an analytical mind, you stay cold, objective, because you know otherwise you’ll fuck it and they’ll get away with it,” he said gravely, and took repeated deep breaths, sniffling, trying to calm himself. “But it never happened to someone… someone I know so well. Someone I value so much. I enjoy sex very much Robin, always have, always had incredible sex… and to know that someone I care so much about… to hear you and know your experience and… I sort of empathised harder. And I just…” he shook his head, hiccuped, rubbed his eyes. “What kind of justice have they given you? You didn’t even… it’s been ten years now. And you didn’t get, not even… in all this time… I… Did you wish he had killed you?” he asked suddenly, looking up at her. She gulped, not wanting to make him sadder.

She’d never have such a strong empathetic response. She’d seen people get furious, like her father. And cry, sure, but this… She hadn’t seen anyone break so completely for her. Perhaps it’d happen and she just wasn’t present, but seeing it was a shock, specially coming from Strike, who’d even seen videos of women getting raped and killed, stoically, while working. And then Robin realized what was truly happening; all those times, he had been able to apply the techniques of distancing himself he had learned as a SIB, the ones she’d often envied, but she hit too close to home. He couldn’t apply them, perhaps for the first time in his life. And he was so unaccustomed to dealing with such big emotions without being able to distance himself, that he had just succumbed.

“Before, yes,” Robin admitted. “But then I guess it’s like you were saying earlier, isn’t it? You focus on all the good you have. My current life is worth the shit I had to go through.”

Strike nodded, reaching out to cup her face.

“You are truly an incredibly tough woman, Robin. You’re such a warrior,” he said, admiring, and she smiled gently. “And I’m so fucking sorry men are such fucking scum sometimes. You deserved better. You deserve so, so much better.”

“I have better. I have you.”

He snorted a laugh, covered with snot, and she grinned.

“You’re the best person I know,” said Strike, nodding. “I don’t know what I did to earn a person like you in my life but… I swear I’m never going to take you for granted ever again. I’m going to spend my entire fucking life trying to show you how grateful I am to have you. And how much I…” he thought about it for a moment, and nodded to himself, knowing that was the blunt truth. “How much I love you.”

Robin beamed, feeling her eyes fill with tears.

“Believe me, you already do. I love you too, you know? So much,” she kissed his lips gently. “What do you think if I grab us some toilet paper, we stop crying, and focus on the good bits again, uh?”

“Yeah,” Strike nodded. “And then I’m going to eat you out. I have to… I want to show you all you’ve been missing. I want to give you what you deserve, if you let me.”

“Of course,” Robin hugged him tightly. “I’ll be right back.” She kissed his sweaty temple and rushed out for the bathroom.

She cleaned herself, washed her face in the sink, from make-up and tears, and grabbed a roll of toilet paper, new, from the cabinet where they kept them. Then she looked at herself in the mirror and smiled. She was a mess, with eyes swollen, and she felt like every weight that she had unconsciously bore in her chest was lifted. She was whole. And she was happy.

  
  



	5. Celebratory mood

**Chapter 5: Celebratory mood.**

When Strike’s eyes opened, for a moment he feared he’d gone quadriplegic, for he had never felt so numb and relaxed in his life. He checked his waist for his watch, and saw it was nearly noon, the latest he’d ever woken up. He looked around and smiled, seeing Robin curled on her side of the bed, a hand forming a soft fist against her drooling mouth, the other on his belly. She looked so utterly relaxed, and so stunning, as the sun entered the room through the single window and showered them with warm light.

They’d fallen asleep early in the morning, after he’d make her cry out another orgasm with his mouth, then gotten her to squirt for the first time in her life — and he’d had to explain to her what that was. And then, even when they were exhausted, she had insisted on touching him, and he had slid on a condom and, since she insisted, made love to her ever so slowly and tenderly, until she was shaking, quivering and screaming in pleasure, thanking God and suddenly more religious than anybody in Church. He’d never felt happier.

His stomach growling made Strike gently take Robin’s hand from it, kiss her hand, and put it on the mattress. Then he carefully disentangled their legs and slid out from the bed.

“Corm…” she muttered, stirring.

“Sh…” he leaned, kissing her gently, caressing her cheek. “Sleep, love. You sleep.”

His warm, soft, and somewhat hoarse voice, after the night they’d had, seemed to be enough to soothe her back to sleep.

As he had a quick shower in Robin and Max’s bathroom, Strike reflected, holding onto the tap for support, that he’d never had such an emotionally intense night in his life, probably, despite the life he’d had. He felt somehow freer now, liberated, like he had taken out part of the darkness in his chest and filled it with more, warmer light. And he couldn’t stop smiling. He told himself that whatever happened with Robin, whatever pain he’d end up suffering, it was worth it all because he’d brought pleasure back into her life, and that was a priceless treasure, an honour much higher than any military decoration.

When he returned to Robin’s room, with his prosthesis on and a towel around his waist, he found she was still asleep, and had rolled onto his side of the bed, sprawled like a sea star, drooling on the pillow. She was like a baby falling asleep after a good cry, having let it all out, all that was too much of a pressure in the heart. Finding her too beautiful and adorable, Strike made sure to immortalize it with his phone camera, and smiled, watching her for a minute before he got dressed. Luckily, his underwear wasn’t dirty, and his suit was all right. He opened the first two buttons of his shirt and put his tie on his pocket, and once he was decently dressed he went upstairs and began cooking some eggs and bacon for lunch.

The smell of bacon seemed to rose Robin from her sleep, because he heard the shower running and, as he finished cooking and set the two plates on the kitchen table, she appeared, looking sleepy but relaxed, her hair still wet, soft make-up on, a blouse and jeans, ready for the workday.

“Mmm _great_ morning,” she said, smiling softly as she came over and kissed him.

“Indeed,” Strike kissed her cheek next. “Was going to bring you brunch to bed.”

“Would’ve been lovely, if it wasn’t Friday,” Robin sat with him to eat. “Have you checked your phone? I had ten missing calls from Pat. Called her and apologized for the both of us for not being at work, told her you took me out for drinks last night for my birthday and it got so late when you walked me home that I offered you Max’s room, since he’s not here. Not sure she believed it,” she took a piece of bacon and hummed, content, at the taste, “but she understood we just fell asleep really late and we’ll be right there. Cormoran, this is delicious, didn’t know you were such a good cook!”

“Thanks,” Strike smiled at her, enjoying the food himself. “When’s Max back?”

“In a couple hours or so,” said Robin.

“Good,” Strike nodded. “God, I’m tired. What an intense night, wasn’t it? But you know what, big deal we’re late. We’re the bosses, it’s allowed.”

“That’s what Pat said,” said Robin, and he felt fonder towards their secretary because of that. They’d started in a rocky way, but after Strike learned he just reminded her of a crappy ex husband, and Robin shouted at him to be nicer to her, he’d been making an effort and they had been getting closer. “And yeah, it was intense but… good intense, right?”

“Yeah,” Strike agreed. “Like a good session at the gym, you leave knackered, but super satisfied. I feel lighter today, bit chirpy.”

Robin grinned at him.

“I know the feeling,” she leaned over to kiss him. “So what’s the plan? We are having dinner with everyone tonight, but Ilsa might have a heart attack if we tell her. It’ll be like Christmas.”

“Screw Christmas, it’ll be a level of happiness equivalent to having a baby, for her,” said Strike, and Robin smiled softly. If Ilsa hadn’t had such a horrible miscarriage not too long ago, they would’ve laughed, probably. “I’m going to my attic, get changed, then back to the office, I’ve got a meeting with a client, surveillance later… will see you at the restaurant tonight. Seven wasn’t it?”

“Seven,” Robin nodded. “I actually meant what’s the plan about…” she motioned with her finger to the space between them. “I think we shouldn’t say anything when it’s just started, should we? I mean last I did this I was a teenager, I don’t know.”

“Well, I think it’s a wise idea to wait,” said Strike in agreement, finishing his plate. “Give it a few weeks, so we have time to figure the foundations without everyone giving their constant opinions.”

“Yeah… and are we…? Boyfriend and girlfriend or… that’s the type of thing that’s decided later these days?”

Strike snorted a laugh.

“Love, you speak like you’re an old woman, things don’t change much in twenty years. I guess if we didn’t know each other so well, we’d start slower but… we’ve known each other nearly five years. We’ve already said I love you. Calling you anything but my girlfriend, as long as we’re in private, wouldn’t quite convey what you mean to me.” Robin gave him a smug smile, sweet and dreamy. “What?” he asked with amusement.

“I like it when you call me love, love.”

“And I like to take advantage of the little private time I’m going to have to do so today,” Strike came closer, kissing her again. “I’m going to dash, okay? Still have to change and it’s late.”

“Yeah, you go. I have some tailing to do, so I’ll see you tonight, most likely.”

“Good,” Strike put the plates away, but Robin gestured she’d wash them, since he was already late. “Thanks. Love you,” he kissed her. “Happy first day as a thirty year old.”

“Enjoy the month and a half of being only nine years older,” Robin teased, kissing him back and smiling into the kiss. It was wonderful, to get to kiss him just like that, and feel chirpy inside. Strike giggled into her mouth and separated.

“Take care!”

“You too!”

She heard him move around to gather the rest of his belongings and, a minute later, he was out of the door. Robin sighed and let out a laughter she couldn’t contain. She was just so happy.

The remaining of the day, despite how late it was when they’d started it, seemed to run in slow motion. Robin and Strike both focused strictly on work, but exchanged sweet texts in-between chores, and once Pat was out of the office for the day, Strike rushed to his two bedrooms above the flat to change for the second time that day, because the restaurant Ilsa had booked at was high profile and required  a proper suit, but he didn’t want to repeat,  and imagined Robin wouldn’t either. Maybe she’d wear her green dress.

Strike got in his BMW, and rushed for the restaurant. They were going to be a little late, because since they’d arrived late at work, everything had run late that day. Strike had been late at the meeting, so it had ended later, so he’d gone on surveillance later, so he’d dressed later. Similarly, Robin, he knew, had needed longer to find who she was supposed to be tailing, and had spent longer time on it than she otherwise would’ve, roaming the streets of London. But they’d met at the restaurant.

“Hi, got a reservation, name’s Ilsa Herbert?” Strike asked the waiter as he arrived at the downtown restaurant.

“Sure, most of her table arrived already. Straight ahead, corner round table.”

“Thanks,” Strike rushed inside and saw Barclay and his wife were just about to sit down, Ilsa and Nick were sat, Max and his boyfriend, and Vanessa and her fiancé. “Hello, sorry I’m late, we’re all late.”

“It’s fine, guest of hour can arrive whenever, and you’re always late,” said Nick giving him a half hug.

“Looking great Ilsa,” Strike complimented her dress, kissing her cheek. He’d made a point to shave his neck in his attic. “Thanks for doing this.”

“No problem,” she smiled warmly at him, and he set to salute others.

He was introduced to Sean, Max’s boyfriend, a lightning director in his new BBC1 drama, met  again with Lisa Barclay, and greeted Vanessa and Oliver, doing small talk before he sat down, as it’s customary to ask the typical ‘how do you do’ at the very least.

“What happened today, boss?” Barclay asked, smirking at him. “Didn’t see you or Robin all day, weren’t ya supposed to come over this morning for briefing?”

“Oh, well I took Robin for drinks last night, got late, both woke up extraordinarily late,” said Strike, trying not to reveal too much, although Ilsa tried in vain to hide a small smile next to him. “She’s gone on tailing and when she last called me it had apparently gotten particularly tricky and she said she’d be late. Where’s Andy?”

“Nae idea, hasn’t texted me back,” Sam shrugged, and Strike checked his phone, but he didn’t have battery any more. He’d forgotten to charge it when he’d returned to the office, stressed with work as he was.

“Big thirty, isn’t it?” Max commented. “Good thing you took her out. Ought to have fun sometimes.”

“Yeah… realized it’s probably the first time we’ve had drinks without spending it talking of a case,” admitted Strike. “The Bamborough one nearly finished us, bloody exhausting. Hope nobody else hires us for something like that in a long while, honestly.”

“Why though?” inquired Sean, a smaller man than Max, who was big like Strike, with blonde hair and warm brown eyes. “She was missing what, forty years?” everyone had heard from the papers at that point. “What’s a few more weeks at this point?”

“Her daughter only hired us for a year, which you’d think is more than enough, but this has been by far the hardest case we’ve had, the easiest in terms of danger, but,” Strike shrugged. “Against the clock, never getting leads, too busy with all the other case, me barely in London and Robin taking over the agency most of the year. In the end we got to the end date and barely had anything, but then neither of us really wanted to give up, and suddenly we both had new, good leads, case resolved weeks later. Family was grateful we continued even when we weren’t supposed to, for free, so at least it was worth the effort.”

“Sounds too stressful,” Sean shuddered. “I’d look twice my age with that level of stress.”

“Right?” Max agreed.

“And how was filming in Kent?” asked Strike, figuring he ought to inquire in other’s lives too.

“Fantastic! Wolfgang, my dog,” he clarified for the others, “had a blast, and so did we. Can’t wait for the show to premiere in January.”

“You deserve some good success,” Ilsa told her friend happily.

At last, Robin arrived, breathless, her semi updo a bit loose, wearing a beautiful black dress Strike hadn’t seen on her before, and high heels. She hurried to salute everyone, thanking for the presents and the birthday wishes, and particularly Ilsa for planning everything, and kissed Strike’s cheek before sitting between Vanessa and him.

“What the fuck’s happened to your phone?” she asked Strike, looking stressed.

“Battery, forgot to charge it with all the hurry, sorry… why, did something happen?”

“What _didn’t_ happen,” Robin took a sip of her water before explaining herself. “Andy. He’s gotten bad, not coming.”

“Is the sclerosis?” Nick asked, scowling in some worry, and Robin nodded.

“Shit, is he in hospital?” Strike kicked himself.

“Luckily not so bad, but his leg’s not okay, he’s home, Louise’s taking care of him,” said Robin. “I was out tailing and Andy wasn’t far, so I called him, offered to drive him ‘cause I had the Land Rover. Anyway we’re talking and he, suddenly he was in a lot of pain, couldn’t move. Begged me to take him home, not to the hospital, and I left him there. Louise swore she’d call with updates, tried to tell you but your phone was out.”

“Fuck…” Strike sighed. “Poor man. Hope he feels better soon.”

“Me too,” Robin accepted a wine offer from Vanessa, as they’d requested a couple good bottles for the table. “Thanks. So, what’s up? How was Kent?”

Enthusiastically, Max and Sean told them everything about filming in Kent, how much fun Wolfgang, Max’s dachshund, had had running around the countryside, and how nice and interesting it had been, until they got the entrées at the table and conversation quieted down a little, as food distracted them. Strike couldn’t help glancing at Robin now and then, and when her hand caressed his knee under the table, he looked up and saw her eyes fixed on him. She smiled small, while the others were distracted with a joke Barclay was telling, and he saw her eye Ilsa for a second before turning back to him and mouthing ‘love you’, which made him smile.

“Me too,” he whispered, and gave her hand a squeeze under the table before returning it quickly on top of the table as Ilsa turned to comment something with him.

It was the first time in Strike’s life he felt himself bursting with love so much he just had to say it. He wanted nothing more than to be the one to ensure Robin always knew she was so, so loved, for the rest of their lives, growing old and solving mystery and crime. It didn’t matter that they were falling on three clichés; best friends unable to remain best friends, work partners ending up as romantic partners, and old guy dating much younger woman, but he couldn’t care less. Strike thought then of back when he’d been a teenager, and Leda had tried to explain her feelings for Whittaker to her confused son; ‘ _one day you’ll feel like that about someone_ ’. Strike wasn’t sure what she’d felt, but as she watched Robin laughing about a hilarious anecdote Oliver and Vanessa had recounted, he was sure that whatever the Romanticism writers and poets had meant to convey, he felt it.

“God, I only just realized,” said Nick midway through dinner, putting his wine down. “This is so weird, haven’t we all been engaged at some point? It’s such an odd coincidence.” He commented with a tone of surprise.

“Well some people got engaged twice, because that’s how good Ilsa Herbert’s with men,” Strike commented, turning to his friend in amusement, and Ilsa chuckled and blushed. “What do you do with so many diamonds?” he joked.

“Oh shush you, I never got diamonds, I’m environmental-friendly! This one’s imitation,” she lifted her gorgeous engagement ring, sat next to her wedding band, “and I didn’t get a ring the first time, we barely had money, we were saving for the actual wedding and the house we wanted.”

“Hold down a minute, you got engaged twice to Nick?” asked Lisa Barclay, surprised and amused.

“Not to me, I wish,” Nick said with a laugh.

“Another lawyer,” Ilsa specified.

“But I thought you guys had been together forever,” commented Max.

“No, no. We got together at eighteen, but broke up months later, ‘cause we went to different universities,” said Ilsa. “Nick and I agreed we wouldn’t tell the other to which universities we were applying, to avoid influencing decisions. I wanted to go to top law schools, and Nick was with medicine, you’re not going to find a place that’s equally amazing in sciences and humanities and we wanted to make sure our futures came before a teenage romance. And we lost touch, specially since Corm, who was our link, went off to the Army a couple years later, and we met other people. I had a boyfriend through law school, we moved in together after graduating, settled in London, got engaged a year later, and Nick was dating a fellow doctor. Then I was leaving court one day, and there was Nick.”

“Had gotten a lawsuit for medical malpractice, was dismissed, it never really had grounds where to stand,” Nick explained without giving it too much importance. “Still I had to go to the courthouse. And then she calls me when I had stopped to dig in my briefcase for my sandwich, and I turn around,” it was like watching a film life, everyone’s attention was focused on the story, as if they could imagine how sweet and incredible it had been. Only Strike, who had heard the story a million times, and remembered his life when it had happened and the excited emails he had received, was focused on his steak. “And there she was, most beautiful woman I ever saw, even more gorgeous than I remembered her,” said Nick, grinning like a whipped teenager. Ilsa smiled and blushed, never tired of hearing his love for her, and Vanessa and Lisa did an ‘ohh’ sound. Strike watched for Robin’s reaction. He knew she’d heard the story before, and still, she had forgotten her meal, and watched the couple with her cheek on her hand, and a dreamy smile. “Couldn’t even speak!”

“And the rest is history, as they say,” Ilsa finished. “We’d both broken-up with our partners that week, married the next year, the second Corm came from Germany to be our best man.”

“Well, not like I had a choice, both of you nagging me and threatening with coming and dragging me to England yourselves if you had to.”

“That’s the most romantic story I’ve ever fucking heard,” Oliver said in awe. “And how long you’ve been together now?”

“We’re forty now, so imagine,” Nick chuckled. “So long the bit apart has become an insignificant pause in our story. Never miss a Valentine’s Day, us, keeping the romance alive.”

“You should write a book, advise people. Everyone these days divorces so easily,” Vanessa commented. “With the exception of Robin, for sure, that marriage shouldn’t even have happened, but most divorcées I know? Over stupid things. I have a friend who literally divorced because her ex farted too often, he was diagnosed with a tumour just months after the divorce, that’s why he farted so much. Didn’t make a difference.”

“Poor man,” Max scowled in empathy. “Speaking of matrimony, Robin, didn’t you tell me your ex was remarrying? He knocked his lover up?”

“He did,” Robin nodded, no longer too affected by the story. “They married… must’ve been in June or July, right after we settled the divorce, I found out much later, my cousin told me she’d heard about it in Masham, apparently our Vicar had refused to marry them because Matthew and his father told the entire town that the divorce was on me, for having an affair with Cormoran, which obviously didn’t happen. Anyway, the Vicar likes me and he can’t swear I didn’t cheat, but knows for sure Matthew did, because my parents told him, good old friends. And he refuses to remarry a man who had such little respect for ‘the sanctity of marriage’,” she added with an underlined joy about it. “My cousin told me the row they had was the talk of the town over summer holidays, I wasn’t there. Apparently Matthew’s new wife was furious, all pregnant and all, they had to marry at the council hall. Their son was born in September. A Virgo like his father, that’s bad Karma.”

“Virgo,” Strike murmured. “At some point we’ll stop seeing reality in zodiac symbols, please, promise me.” Robin snorted a laugh.

“I’m sorry, that’s my life now. Can you believe first thing I did yesterday morning was checking the tarot cards?” Strike looked horrified, and she laughed.

“Sorry, what are you nutters talking about?” Vanessa inquired, amused and curious, so they explained all about the Bamborough case’s relationship with the zodiac, and how they’d had to study zodiacs and tarot, and how much Strike despised it all. In the end, everyone looked thoroughly amused.

“So what did the tarot say, Robin?” wondered Sam Barclay next.

“Oh,” Robin shrugged. “I’m not sure how to interpret it, I’m not an expert. But the love card has been recurrent, I’ll tell you that.”

“What do you mean recurrent, you’ve done it more than once?” asked Strike with an indignation that made Robin giggle. “Robin! I can’t believe that of you.” He added with false drama.

“Sod off, Strike,” Robin said, making him smile. “I’ve done it twice, first time months ago for the case, I wanted to know what kind of life was Margot’s. Both times, drew the love card, found it amusing considering the circumstances.”

“Who knows, perhaps you’ll get yourself a nice boyfriend next year,” Ilsa eyed Strike suspiciously, and he focused on the dessert the waiter had just brought over. “Someone who actually likes your job...”

R obin eyed Strike for a moment, once she was sure Ilsa wasn’t looking, and smiled small, and saw the corner of Strike’s lip twitch, trying to hide a smile as he looked right back at her. They knew they were both thinking the same thing. Perhaps Robin already had everything she could possibly want.

  
  


  
  



	6. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +18!

**Chapter** **6** **:** **Fire** **.**

After a wonderful dinner, still feeling the shadow of laughter in their faces, the group grabbed their coats and walked together out of the restaurant. Robin had bags of new presents in her hands, and she gave hugs and repeated thanks as they parted with the Barclays, Max and his boyfriend, who were going in different directions. Robin apparently wanted to pass by the office real quick, since she’d been gone all day, so she, Strike, the Herberts, Vanessa and Oliver walked towards the parking lot nearby, where they’d all managed to find space for their respective cars, with the exception of Vanessa and Oliver, who would accompany them and then head off to the underground.

However, they hadn’t walked more than a couple metres from the restaurant, chitchatting, the girls ahead and the boys behind as they inevitably mixed with their same genders, when a voice behind them made them stop.

“Bluey!”

With a chill down his neck, Strike cursed under his breath and turned around. There stood Charlotte, alone, wearing a beautiful long dress and high heels, diamonds in her ears and around her neck, not looking a day over twenty-five. She hadn’t gained a pound, and was still tall and beautiful, illuminated by the cars that drove by and the street lamps. Still, for the first time Strike couldn’t be in awe by her beauty. Suddenly she had appeared to him to be nothing but a siren, enchanting sailors to then drown them, luring with an apparent, cold beauty you couldn’t trust, because the devil was behind it.

“Goodnight, Charlotte,” said Strike, turning around to leave. They had barely resumed the walk when he heard footsteps and turned just in time to see Charlotte reach a hand to grab his arm, but he moved a step back to avoid it. “Don’t touch me. Leave me alone.” He said, looking coldly at her.

His change of heart must’ve reflected in his eyes, because hers narrowed, frowning slightly for a moment as to confused he wasn’t drooling after her.

“But Bluey…” Charlotte looked at him up and down. “Look at you, so handsome. What happened to the Italian suit I gave you? Well it doesn’t matter. Walk me to the car? I’m single now, we could… have some fun, uh? For the old times.”

“I’m not interested. I don’t love you, I don’t like you, I am done with you Charlotte, I told you. Just leave me alone.”

“Come on Bluey, don’t be silly…”

The group behind Strike had become stiff and quiet. They all knew about them, and suddenly, thinking of all Strike had been put through that year, from Joan’s death, to the Rokebys and Charlotte’s constant nagging, Robin couldn’t bear to not do anything.

“Ilsa, will you hold this for a moment please?” she whispered, handing her bags to Ilsa before walking determined to Charlotte while Strike tried once more to get her to go away. “Haven’t you learned about consent, Charlotte?” said Robin with a fearless attitude she hadn’t shown her before. Charlotte looked to her, as if wondering how she, a plebeian, dared to even look at a person like Charlotte, let alone intervene in a private conversation. She wasn’t the only one shocked by this, specially as Robin’s voice contained a strength and power that showed she wasn’t going to back down, she wasn’t dubious, she wasn’t going to leave it in a mere guest appearance. “He said _no_ ,” she stressed, “so go.”

Charlotte snorted a laugh, looking between Robin, who glared at her, and Strike, who looked at Robin with a mixture of admiration, curiosity and respect.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Charlotte muttered under her breathe. “At least I know about privacy, which is more than I can say for you,” she snapped looking at Robin with disgust and arrogance. “You must be Robin, uh? What’s the deal, Bluey? Does she give nice blow-jobs? I thought you weren’t the kind of man to hide behind a woman.”

“We’re done here,” Strike put a soft hand on Robin’s shoulder. “Don’t bother with her, she’s not worth it. Let’s go get a beer.”

Robin nodded, and they both turned to walk away.

“I’ve read about you, Robin!” Charlotte raised her voice to reach them, as they’ve walked a few metres away, and Robin came to a halt. “Got a good stairwell fuck in Uni, didn’t you?” Robin clenched her jaw, Strike looked at her in horror, and Charlotte laughed. “If you think he’s going to stick around to lick your cunt you’ve got it all wrong, darling. You’re just some secretary, and Cormoran loves me, even if he says he doesn’t. We have history. _We_ are unbreakable. And you’ve got nothing on me. I know his type, you see? He doesn’t go for simple farm girls turned secretaries, further less if their hole’s too loose.”

“Don’t,” Strike murmured, wrapping an arm around Robin’s shoulders as she was going to turn around, “give her the satisfaction. This is what she does. She’s just a harpy, Robin.”

But when Robin looked ahead, beginning to walk again, Ilsa and Vanessa were looking at her in a way that made her feel like turning around and slamming her fist on Charlotte’s nose, for all the women who had to stand bitches like her. Still, she didn’t, hearing Strike’s words over and over. He’d asked her not to give her the satisfaction and for her, she wouldn’t.

“Bluey, come back,” Charlotte was walking again after them. “I love you Bluey, and I know you love me, you can’t run away from me. It doesn’t matter if you change your number, if you try to ignore me, you know I’ll always be part of you—,”

“Enough!” Robin surprised herself, turning around in her heels and glaring at Charlotte. Suddenly they realized that even though they both had high heels, Robin was still slightly taller, and Charlotte straightened and raised her chin as if to compensate. Robin took a deep breath and lowered her voice. “I understand you’re a self-entitled, manipulative harpy, but seriously how much lower do you want to fall? You’re pathetic,” Robin narrowed her eyes on her. “It’s been over four years, let go Charlotte, because this?” she pointed at the air between them. “You continuing to appear out of the blue wherever he is? You messaging him all the time looking for attention? All these entitled little girl games of yours, attention-seeking? You’re being infantile, pathetic, and frankly, I feel sad for you, specially considering you’re supposedly thirty-nine and behave like you’re four. Grow some maturity, dignity, honour, and get yourself a life because frankly? Cormoran’s quite busy for mind-games like yours.”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes in anger and Strike felt himself smirk a little. He didn’t need any woman defending him, but he understood what this was about. Robin was his partner, his best friend, the one who had his back without him asking or needing her to, and just like he would’ve had a word with Matthew if he came over harassing her, she was going to confront this too, woman to woman.

Meanwhile, Charlotte looked ready to combust.

“You have got a lot of nerve to talk to _me_ like that, you filthy—,”

“Whore?” Robin finished for her, and she snorted a laugh. “How imaginative, Charlotte,” she added sarcastically. “Yes, I come from a village, yes, I was raped, yes, I’m not some socialite, and so what? What makes you think I’d ever want to be any different? I’m a detective, a bloody good one in fact, I’m Strike’s partner, and I don’t need anybody’s validation. And if you want to bully me that’s fine, hit me with your best shot and good luck with it, because at the end of the day, I have drawn blood from serial killers much scarier than you, and I have an identity and a life I’m fucking proud of, without any need to go begging for attention after a man who obviously doesn’t want anything to do with me, because who would, in their right minds, want anything to do with someone as bat shit crazy as you?” She spoke fast and clearly, like a tiger nailing several precise swipes in one second, leaving Charlotte speechless, indignant, and fuming. “Do _yourself_ a favour, find your dignity where you left it, if you still have any, and get yourself a life, but leave him in peace ‘cause you’ve done harm enough and if I have to face you again, it’s not going to be pretty.”

Charlotte snorted.

“Oh are you threatening me now?”

“Bravo, you got it, well done,” Robin patted her shoulder like congratulating a little kid and moved to turn around, feeling full of power, somewhat smug. The first time she’d seen her, and all the ways afterwards, she’d felt inferior. How often had she compared herself with Charlotte, wondered if she’d have any of Charlotte’s attractiveness to Strike? But now, she didn’t need to compare. Her own identity spoke a thousand words. Then she heard movement, Charlotte grabbed her arm, and Robin turned and raised her other arm fast enough to grab Charlotte’s wrist hard as her fist was about to collide with her face. Charlotte looked surprised, and in a swift motion Robin had swirled Charlotte like a dancer, twisted her arm behind her back, and gently pushed her forward. “Next time you want to hurt someone, make sure they don’t have any self defence training. Now go away, before I dig up so much crap about you for our friend in _The Sun_ , that no ladder can return you to the high levels of society.” She snapped, before turning again and walking away, leaving Charlotte baffled and indignant, before the socialite also turned around and ran off, not wanting anybody to witness her humiliation.

S trike couldn’t help staring at Robin with awe and wonder, even as the others congratulated her, impressed, and she blushed.

“That was some badassery lesson, wait until I tell Lucy,” Ilsa commented, grinning at her.

The younger woman blushed harder and looked apologetic up at Strike, who hadn’t said a word yet.

“I’m so sorry, I know you didn’t need me to… but I was just thinking of how she couldn’t even leave you alone when you put Joan’s ashes away and I just got so indignant I—,”

“No, it’s okay,” Strike smiled small. “To tell you the truth, I’m used to having to protect and rescue women, and it’s true I usually don’t appreciate third party interventions in my personal life, but… no one’s ever stood up for me like that. Thank you.”

Robin grinned.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re one of a kind, Ellacott.”

And he lit himself a cigar, giving it a long drag while smiling smugly, and Robin felt a familiar feeling of pride and rejoice in her stomach that she couldn’t shake off, not even as they entered separate cars on their route to the office, because neither of them wanted to abandon a vehicle.

Robin found parking space first, and parked in two swift movements, gathered her bags, and waited at the office’s street door. A few minutes later Strike appeared with his long coat, and they walked to each other, meeting mid way for a passionate, long-awaited kiss. Strike tried to convey in it all the gratitude he felt for what she’d done, all the love he felt, all the appreciation, and Robin just wanted to tell him he deserved better, he was worth better, to reassure him nobody ever would become a virus in his life if she had any say in it.

“Do you really have to go to the office?” Strike asked breathless, a hand already sneaking into the opening of Robin’s dress in her back to touch her skin.

“No,” Robin smirked. “I only wanted you.” Strike’s nostrils flared as he inhaled hard, and kissed her even harder.

It was only a matter of time before they’d rushed upstairs, gotten naked, and then Robin was screaming of pleasure on his bed, Strike’s tongue between her folds and his large hands cupping her arse, as she pressed her against his mouth, looking up to see the most erotic thing he’d seen in his life; Robin’s chest heaving, her nipples hard and pointing at the ceiling, one of them being gently tugged with one of her hands, while her head was thrown back and her free hand gripped the short headboard’s wooden edge as if she needed to hold onto something as he gave her one of those Earth-shattering orgasms she was thinking she could easily get used to.

Lying down, trying to recover her breath after such a feeling, Robin could only smile and open her eyes as she felt Strike’s soft, fuzzy with hair, body, climbing over her, pressing just the right amount, his lips finding hers first, then her jawline, her earlobe, and her neck. He was kissing her with reverence, and she could feel his length, not yet with a condom, sliding between her parted lips, dragging her orgasm on with the sensation of his warm hardness caressing her clit.

“Mmm…” Robin bit her lip in pleasure, grabbing a fistful of Strike’s curly hair and leaning to give him a tongue kiss, devouring his mouth. He hadn’t come yet, and she had an idea. “I want to try something.”

“Yeah? What is it?” He looked at her with that expression she’d notice often took over his face after prolonged pleasure, like his face muscles were so relaxed her could hardly move them.

“I want to give you a blowie.”

Strike’s eyes widened.

“Robin, you don’t have to, I’m good,” he was already fondling her breasts attentively.

“I know, that’s why I want to do it. I want to see if I can enjoy it.”

“Well, okay, wow—,” Robin was already pushing his chest so he’d roll on his back, and she was already straddling him, kissing him hard as her wetness coated his belly and she moved a hand back to grasp his large length. “Hey,” Strike separated for a moment, “if you want to do that, can we sixty-nine? I’m not done with that deliciousness you’ve got…”

“All right, soldier,” Robin chuckled at him, and the unexpected nickname, that surprisingly nobody had ever used before during sex with him, made his hardness spasm.

She moved to sit on his face, one of his long fingers finding home as he sucked on her swollen and reddened clit, and was face to face with his manhood. He was large, of that she had no doubt, and he was so excited the tip was already a little coated. Robin experimentally fondled his sensitive balls, and his hips jerked up to meet her hand, and then she began kissing the inside of his thighs, trailing a path to his length, and sucked on the point where the underside of his member met his sack, drawing a long moan from him against her nether lips. She was moaning a little herself, but kept her focus on the task at hand and gave it one long lick to the tip, like a lollipop. Finding she didn’t hate the taste, but also definitely didn’t like it, she fondled him with her hand, squeezing gently, spreading the wetness that had accumulated there from the both of them, along his shaft, and then reached for a condom, which they’d left on the feet of the bed. She slid one on him and then tried again. With the condom, it was okay, so she began to suck the tip, and Strike’s moans hardened. He didn’t seem to mind there was a condom on the way. He could probably feel her warm mouth, just like she felt his warmth like a massive sausage,  and the pressure of her lips around him, and that was enough to get him cumming within a minute, which surprised Robin. The condom filled but the hardness remained, so Robin carefully pulled it off and threw it to the bin they’d brought by the side of the bed, sliding a new one on him. Now he wasn’t distracted, Strike seemed to have redoubled his efforts on her and now she could hear how two long fingers split her open, making erotic sounds in the friction with extremely wet territory, and she moaned hard, but moved away before she could orgasm again.

“Hey! Oh…” Strike’s complains ended as he saw her straddle him facing her and begin to coax his friend’s wide head inside of her. It always took a little convincing for her body to accept him, and she patiently worked it out, touching her breasts while Strike fondled her clit until her orgasm began to approach again. “Fuck Robin… you should see yourself… fucking erotic…” he sat up and wrapped his arms around her, thrusting upwards as he sucked her breast, and she yelped, taking full advantage of the fact that they were the only ones in the entire office building.

E ventually, she got tired of doing most of the effort and Robin kissed him hard before looking straight into his dark eyes and making the petition.

“Fuck me into the mattress, Detective Strike.”

“Damn right…” Strike found that again her words, even if not too filthy, made his body react in new, powerful ways. He rolled them over and, after reminding her to stop him if he was too rough, he began to fuck her in earnest, until she was a mess of moans and tears of pleasure, quivering and trembling beneath him, feeling like she was in heaven, and at last, they came in unison, while Strike gripped one of her breasts gently and kissed her like she was his oxygen, sinking himself to the hilt.

  
  



	7. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!

**Chapter 7: Love.**

The following weeks, to Strike and Robin, were a blur, as they seemed to feel like two souls moving between two worlds; one, the one full of crime and detecting, the other, just them in the clouds of pleasure, where they found each other daily not just in carnal pleasure, but in the talking for hours in bed, afterwards, laughing and fooling around until they fell asleep. They alternated between Strike’s room and Robin’s, when Max was gone, and Robin had begun to take the pill again, just as an extra precaution, because both of them knew for sure they didn’t really want children.

And on the days off, the very few they had, were the red roses, the dates, the flirting, the making love of their souls and not their bodies, and the getting to know each other deeply, from their hopes and dreams to their favourite food of worst habits. Strike found himself so happy and relaxed he unexpectedly stopped smoking. It wasn’t a move he’d done on purpose, just that he found himself desiring a fag less and less, as his lips now simply craved a hot cup of tea, and Robin.

Meanwhile, London’s temperature kept dropping, rain falling more frequently, the streets turned yellow, orange, brown and bald, and Strike’s big forty arrived. After giving it much thought, and considering his birthday fell on a Sunday and they had to go to Devon for a case on the previous Friday, Strike decided to pass from dinner at the Herberts’ or with his sister, and spend the weekend with Robin in St Mawes.  They had decided for Ted to be the first one to know they were a couple, so they spent Friday in Devon,  slept in a Travelodge, and travelled to St Mawes on Saturday morning.

A s they drove down to St Mawes, Strike lowered his window and took in the smell of the ocean and wet grass, because it had been raining all night, and Robin glanced at him with a smile at the familiar gesture, every time they were near the shore. He was such an ocean man.

“Carefull now, it’s down Hillhead,” said Strike pointed out for her. “Gets pretty steep.”

“No problem,” Robin reduced her speed and kept a foot ready to brake when needed, and the Land Rover gently descended down the road, the ocean at their feet. “Woah, what views…” she commented, marvelled.

“Yeah,” said Strike, nodding. “Nothing like good old St Mawes. Turn right, you can park in Ted’s driveway, there… hit the horn, there…” Robin announced their arrival pressing the horn and stopped the car, and Strike was already out. It was freezing and misty, with a soft drizzle falling, and he tightened his coat, while Ted rushed out of the house, and grinned, surprised to see them.

“Corm! What a nice surprise!”

“We were in Devon for work, and decided to crash here for the weekend, uh?” Strike hugged him. “I’ve missed you Ted.”

“I’ve missed you too, boy,” Ted grinned, patting his back. Robin stood nearby, smiling at the nice picture. “Who did you bring?”

“Well, that’s surprise number two,” Strike pointed at Robin. “This is Robin, you’re a celebrity around here,” he explained to Robin, who smirked and offered Ted a hand to shake.

“It’s so nice to meet you Mr Nancarrow, Cormoran speaks lovely things of you.”

“Ah, just call me Ted,” he shook her hand, grinning. “Well I’ve heard so much about you too! My wife, Joanie, she was so looking forward to meet you… never have we heard Lucy talk so nicely about one of Corm’s female friends.”

“Lucy’s too kind,” Robin smiled, and joined Ted and Strike to gather their things and take them into the house.

Robin found herself in a charming old little house of rock and wood, in which time had definitely passed, but that hadn’t lost any of the homey atmosphere. There, it was warm and smelled of pie,  as they entered a small little sitting room where the fireplace was on. Ted stood, an older version of Strike, with glasses, and Robin wondered whether she was looking at her future. If one day Strike would be like that, with a bit more belly, hair going grey, glasses, cooking pies and investigating in front of the fireplace.

“What a cosy place,” she commented, looking around in wonder, and then she let out an excited yelp. “Oh my God Cormoran is that you?!” she rushed to a framed photograph that sat on a bookcase’s shelf. It showed Ted, much younger, grinning with his arm around a beautiful blue-eyed woman who was likely Joan, both with a hand on the shoulder of each kid that stood smiling in front. Lucy, no older than four or so, little, chubby, with shining blonde hair, a little smile, and blue eyes, Wellington boots up to her thighs and overalls on, and next to her Strike, about six, judging by his round face and tender eyes, tall for his age, with an arm around Lucy’s shoulders, a head and a half taller than her. His eyes were the only thing that remained unaffected by time, still the same dark, warm eyes she knew, framed by long and dark lashes, but his hair was a bit longer, a little darker, and the new length united to his curls gave him a very 80s look. He looked like a little fisherman, with a fishing rod in one chubby hand, and a plaid shirt a bit too short, and Wellington boots.

“Ah, yeah,” Strike came closer to see. “One of the times Mum went God knows were, Ted took us finishing in his boat, I remember.”

“Most handsome kids in the world,” said Ted satisfied, smiling at the photograph. “Everyone thought they were ours, since we looked so similar!”

“You certainly do!” Robin admitted. “A mini Ted and Joan. What a beautiful photograph.” She looked back at Strike and grinned, ruffling his curls, which didn’t move an inch. “Who would’ve thought you once looked that innocent and adorable?”

“I’m still adorable,” Strike murmured, making her laugh.

“Tell you what, I made pie, it’s nearly ready, and I can put another pot of tea. Why don’t you bring your things upstairs and I’ll get everything ready for you? Both rooms are ready, divide as you like.”

“Actually, Ted, before we do that,” said Strike turning away from the photograph to look at his uncle, and putting the bags he was holding on the floor. “Robin and I wanted to tell you something, before we tell anybody else because, well… you’re my Dad, for all I care, and we figured since we’d be coming here, you should be the first,” Ted’s eyes seemed to well up when he called him Dad. Strike was aware he’d never done it, but didn’t want anybody getting emotional so he’d mentioned it quickly. “Robin and I are in love. And so we’re… in a relationship, for nearly two months now. I know is not much but, she’s truly important to me, so… I wanted to bring her over to meet home.”

“Oh dear!” Ted beamed, clasping his hands together. “Oh! That’s such fantastic news!” he had to stick a finger under his glasses and rub his eyes, because being called Dad and having Strike of all people say for the first time that this was home, and confess he was in love and so excited he wanted him to meet his girl already, even after such little time dating, all in the span of one minute, was enough to bring him to the brink of tears, specially knowing how happy Joan would be. “Come here, give your old man a hug, I’m so happy!” he hugged Strike again and then moved to hug Robin, who smiled, patting his back. She’d normally not be so comfortable with close contact with someone she hardly knew, but strangely it felt like hugging Strike. “Well consider this your home too, Robin, anytime you want to pass by good old Cornwall.” He grinned at her. “Oh, if Joanie was here… she’d be so excited! So happy… a decent person for once…”

“I have an awful reputation as you can see,” Strike told Robin with amusement, and she chuckled. “We’ll take out things upstairs.”

As Strike explained to Robin while they ascended the narrow,  carpeted  staircase,  growing up he and Lucy had shared the bigger room, and the other had been an office slash guest room. Then, Lucy had moved in permanently, and they’d given her their old room to make her own, and also because they were teenagers and that required a bit more privacy. So the office had ceased to exist and became simply a guest room, mainly occupied by Strike when he visited, and sometimes by Lucy’s three sons. There was a big bed, a large chest of drawers, a bookshelf, a single window, a desk and a chair. All the decoration consisted of a few old books, a painting of Land’s End, and a few family pictures.  It was like Strike had decorated it by adding nothing, and then Joan had taken over.

“Oh they’ve changed the mattress,” Strike realized with relief, putting one of their bags on the duvet and noticing the springs didn’t grind. He sat down, and saw it was a modern mattress without springs, a comfortable one. “Lucky us! New mattress! The last time I came my back nearly met its end.”

Robin smiled at him.

“This house is really nice. And Ted, reminds me so much of you.”

“Yeah, we’re quite similar…” Strike agreed. “Hopefully I’ll have better control of my belly at his age, or the leg’s not going to like it.”

“I’m sure you’ll be all right,” Robin stood between his legs, cupping his face and kissing him gingerly. “I’m so happy you brought me over.”

“Me too,” he caressed her legs. “Can’t wait to show you around.”

They walked back downstairs hand in hand, coats off, and found Ted had already filled the kitchen table with three steaming mugs, a bottle of milk, a sugar bowl, three plates and in the middle, a large plate of pie next to some home-made biscuits. Strike’s stomach growled so hard at the sight, that Ted and Robin laughed as they sat down.

The trio did the appropriate catch-up during tea, stuffing themselves with delicious pie and biscuits and commenting the trip to Devon, work, and all the gossip and things of interest.

With a full belly and the warmth of the tea down her throat and stomach, Robin soon felt sleepy.

“Is it okay if I retire for a nap? We got up so early I’m knackered.”

“You go, I’ll wake you up for lunch,” promised Strike, and Robin gave him a little peck as she stood up.

“Thanks for the pie, Ted, everything was delicious.”

“My pleasure darling.”

Robin fell face first against the bed, without even bothering to slide under the duvet, and fell asleep instantly. She had driven for hours the day before from London to Devon, then turned to work without a minute’s rest, and they’d had too much fun during the night to rest too much, since they’d agreed doing it with Ted nearby wasn’t an option.

Hours later, the smell of pie woke her up and she realized it came from Strike’s hand, that was caressing her cheek, and she smiled sleepily.

“You smell like pie.”

“Heavenly then,” said Strike, and she chuckled, kissing his palm. “Are you rested enough to come to the Victory for lunch? Since we couldn’t meet Dave when he came to London and we had to go to Surrey for that meeting, I figured we could meet him there. He has three annoying daughters and a wife, and women don’t usually like him because he has no filter.”

Robin snorted a laugh.

“Good selling, Mr Strike,” she sat up and kissed him, as he sat on the bed. “One, this new mattress is a God’s send, and two, let’s go, I want a Doom Bar in Cornwall.” Strike beamed at her.

“I knew I loved you for a reason.”

W alking down the hill to the Victory Inn, Robin wondered how in heaven’s sakes Strike dealt with so many hills with his leg, as anywhere she turned to look there was a steep hill. St Mawes was also undoubtedly charming, with old houses mixed with renovated ones, barely any tourist, and strong Cornish accents here and there. People waved and saluted Strike as they walked, and his warm hand surrounded Robin’s so that she didn’t feel the freezing day, until they reached the pub, so close to the beach, that on that particular misty day looked gloomy, ghostly.

They found a seat with armchairs and Ted brought over three Doom Bars and three fish and chips, both Strike and Ted choosing impressive haddocks, while Robin preferred the smaller cod. At last, Dave Polworth and his family joined them, and they brought some chairs over. The Polworths were enthusiastic about Robin, and for the way Robin was being teased by Dave, she imagined Strike had never so proudly introduced a girlfriend they could like, which made her feel special in a way.

“Can’t believe Corm’s so happily introducing you, he’s usually reserved as you know,” commented Penny Polworth excitedly, once her daughters had ran off to play in the beach, turning to Robin. “You’re the same Robin that works with him, is that right?”

“Yes,” Robin nodded, sipping from her Doom Bar. “We’re partners in the agency, we’ve worked together for nearly five years before it was to get any… you know, romantic.”

“Robin’s coming over for Christmas,” said Strike cheerfully. “It was a pre-dating decision, she didn’t want to go to her home in Yorkshire, and I said, well, you can come to Cornwall. Lucy’s coming too, and the Herberts, I’ve heard.”

“Such a novelty, having everyone over at once,” Ted smiled happily. “Won’t be snowy as in Yorkshire, I’m afraid, dear.”

“Oh that’s fine, I’m not too fond of being cold. And St Mawes looks so nice, I’m so glad to get to know it.”

“First time in Cornwall, Robin?” asked Dave, with a smug smile.

“No, but I’ve never really spent much time in it.”

“Well now you’ll get to know a true Cornish city! There’s no place like St Mawes,” Dave said proudly. “No place! Once you’ve been here a couple days, you won’t want to leave.”

“I hate to break it to you, Chum, but Robin’s a fan of London just like me,” said Strike, and laughed as Dave glared at him.

Later that night, after a walk down the beach and dinner, Strike and Robin cuddled in bed, Robin enjoying having Strike wrapped around her, with his hand in hers as they spooned.

“What did you think of Chum?” asked Strike, his lips brushing against the back of her neck.

“He’s everything you said he’d be, a bit brute, nationalist, not exactly a poet… but he also seems like an awfully loyal friend, and I can tell he appreciates you very much, and your family. And that’s all I need to like him, really. It’s like Shanker, wouldn’t necessarily go for a drink on my own with either, but they value your family and they’re loyal. And what you told me Dave did for you and Lucy to get to Joan’s deathbed was remarkable.”

“Speaking of Luce,” added Strike, squeezing her gently as he got comfortable and closed his eyes. “D’you reckon we should just text her and Ilsa tomorrow that we’re together? Y’know, before Lucy calls Ted for the weekly catch-up, and tells half the country. She’s going to be really excited. But maybe you want your family to know first.”

“I think Lucy and Ilsa are a good idea, before they catch us kissing in the street by chance or something,” said Robin, her thumb rubbing gentle circles on the hair on the back of Strike’s hand. “My family… I’ll tell them next time I see them, if the topic comes up.”

“Are you okay with them?” inquired Strike, as her tone had gotten hesitant, and he knew she wasn’t going over for Christmas, but it was supposedly because of Matthew.

“I am, it’s just…” she puffed and rolled on her back, turning her head to see his dark figure. “I don’t know, perhaps we’re not okay. I’m just— I love them, I do, and I know they love me and I feel lucky to have them, but I don’t like the way they believed Matthew to an extent, even knowing what he’d done. When I went to Masham I could tell that deep inside they had their doubts about you and me, that they thought it was believable to think I’d have an affair with you and cheat on my husband, specially after knowing the pain of being cheated on. They’re supposed to know me better, and even my Mum, who’s always been in my corner, seemed to need some sort of specific confirmation that she hadn’t raised a cheater. It’s infuriating. And that’s without mentioning how my parents are being lately about you, specially Mum…”

“But I thought she liked me?”

“That was before she thought it was your fault my marriage failed, your fault I was working on Christmas, your fault I hardly come home, and your fault every single injury I’ve sustained on the job. I’ve tried to change her mind, but they’re acting like I’m twelve and you’re my nineteen-year-old boyfriend who takes me for drinks and drugs.” Strike could nearly hear her rolling eyes.

“Robin…” Strike frowned, confused. But he was a good guy, he had done everything to keep her safe and happy, why would her parents…? Then she remembered the roughness with which Linda had treated him at Robin’s first wedding, the last time he’d seen her, and how Robin had now not seen her family for eleven months and was willing to not appear on Christmas either. “Is this one of those occasions in which I’m entitled to an opinion or…?” Strike asked at last, cautious.

Robin snorted a laugh and her hand caressed his beard.

“Yeah.”

“OK then, I think you should talk to your family, Robin,” said Strike. “You shouldn’t be in a situation where their lack of understanding and empathy drives you away from your home town for over a year. If you don’t go home for Christmas, it should be just because you don’t want your town judging and to see Matthew’s new family, not _also_ because your family’s being judgemental and treating you like a child. You’re thirty, don’t let anyone force you into the conciliatory non-problematic role you’ve always had, you need to stand your ground, Robin. Because if you don’t make it clear who you are and what you’re about, then you’re not giving them a chance to know and love that person. They think you are what your rapist made you become, they don’t know the real you.”

“But how, Cormoran? They’re just at me all the time. If I’m working in a separate room on Christmas, it’s wrong, if they see Matthew on the street, they come, say it, and look at me like I’m about to implode—,”

“You’re Robin Venetia Ellacott and you are a detective, you figure it out,” his arm around her moved so that his hand could rub circles on her back. “Look, I know how it is, my entire family’s always been at me too, but you know what? Joan had to be dying for me to tell her about my job, to share my passion and discover she found it exciting too, and then she wanted to know more about it, and told me she was proud, you know? I don’t want for something horrible to happen in your family for you to be able to share your passions with them so that instead of judge you, they understand you and feel proud of you. Talk to them, love. Sometimes things are so much easier than we make them be. Don’t wait until a tragedy happens because then you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

“I know…” Robin puffed in frustration. “Why do I have to be the fixer-upper, though? Why can’t they…?”

“Because you’re the one who changed, Robin. Good change, but change away from home always means you’re going to come back, the one time a year you see them, and they’re not going to understand what happened. And if you don’t take care of it, you’ll find out you can’t go home next year either, because they didn’t get why you didn’t come this year, and won’t change.”

“You are right,” Robin kissed them, pressing their fronts together as she hugged him a little tighter. “I think I should go to Masham before Christmas, for a weekend, just me. Tell them I’m not coming for the holidays face to face, talk to them.”

“That’s a good idea,” Strike kissed her forehead and let a yawn out. “I think I’m going to fall asleep Robin. Goodnight.”

“Sweet dreams.” Robin smiled, nuzzling into her chest, and fell asleep.

The joy that being together in St Mawes and not focusing on work for once, brought them, surprised them both. Used as they were to be so passionate about their job that they took pleasure in nothing else, they discovered a newfound joyfulness and fun in strolling around together, hand in hand, having a beer on Land’s End’s cliff on an improvised date as they watched the waves crash with violence against the cliff wall, or exploring St Anthony’s Lighthouse in the Roseland peninsula. Ted and Strike even took Robin, on Sunday morning, to explore the ruins of Tintagel Castle for Strike’s birthday, and Robin laughed at Strike’s nearly comical complains about the hundreds of steps and the many family anecdotes Ted shared with them.

“OK this one’s for the bookshelf!” Ted shouted as he held up his phone to take a picture of the couple. “Think of something that makes you happy!”

“Beer!” Strike shouted just as Ted pressed the button, showing Robin mid laugh, Strike’s grin as he said ‘beer’, his arms wrapped around her from behind and the strong wind making Robin’s rose-gold hair float in the air to one side.

Early the next morning at dawn, they were packing the car to head back to London, and Robin smiled, checking on her phone the photographs they’d taken around Cornwall. She had realized she had no previous photographs with Strike, and was happy that he’d been happy to take some couple pictures to immortalize the trip, and that the first ones they ever took were of them as a new couple, in love and enjoying their mutual company in a sincere manner.

After giving Ted hugs and promising to be back soon for Christmas, Robin got in front of the wheel with Strike by her side, and they began to leave Cornwall behind.

“Did you have a nice birthday?” Robin asked Strike as he enjoyed a fag with his window rolled down.

“I had the best birthday,” he admitted. “God, and the cake you and Ted made was just… incredible. I’m glad we decided to come together, I’ve had a lot of fun sharing Cornwall with you.”

“Me too,” Robin grinned, still feeling over the moon at their trip. “Can’t wait for many more Cornwall roadtrips with you.”

“That’d be lovely,” he turned to look at her, beautiful as she was with the sun on her face, and all he could think of was how much he wanted to grow old with her, to be eighty and still resolving crimes with her. “I love doing life with you.” He said instead.

“Good,” Robin beamed. “’Cause I’m not going anywhere.”

Strike knew she meant that. They’d just texted Max, Lucy, Vanessa and the Herberts a selfie they’d taken, kissing, so they could start assimilating it and now break in little screams of excitement whenever they kissed in front of them, along with the simple text ‘Guess who’s dating who’ and now their phones buzzed with no doubt excited replies, while they’d decided to not tell their employees for now, to make sure things were strictly professional at work. And still, all that mattered for them was right there, in the old, battered Land Rover. Nothing else was important.


	8. Family feud

**Chapter 8: Family feud.**

Robin’s weekend trip to Masham was to happen two weeks later, once job was relaxed enough to afford the junior partner in the agency to be absent  for two and a half days, so they found themselves in Robin’s bedroom in Finborough Road, after work on Friday, packing Robin’s weekend suitcase while listening to Robin’s birthday present to Strike, a playlist of all his favourite artists mixed with some of hers he liked too.

“Oh, look at that,” Strike smirked to himself, folding one of Robin’s blouses. “I remember ripping this off you on Guy Fawkes’ night. Remember when we orgasmed with the fireworks?”

Robin blushed, snorting a laugh and shaking her head as she folded a pair of jeans into her suitcase.

“There were fireworks inside and outside the room,” she conceded, and he looked smug, putting the blouse in her suitcase and hugging her from behind, kissing his neck. “Don’t start what you can’t finish, you made me go on this trip. And my legs haven’t recovered from what we did this morning on the desk during Pat’s lunch break…”

“That was good,” Strike kissed her shoulder. “Can’t stay professional around you, you’ve broken me.”

“That’s what you get for being so perfect,” she moved a hand over her shoulder to caress his cheek and kissed him. “I’ve got to go…”

“I know, let’s pack your boots, it’s going to be snowy…”

They finished packing and Strike drove her in his BMW to St Pancras’ train station so she could head over to Masham. They had agreed it was too snowy in the north to drive safely, specially if she had to do two long and exhausting drives with hardly any days in the middle to rest, since she’d arrive to Masham late at night and be on her way back on Sunday morning.  Strike walked her over to the platform entry for the first time ever, and they kissed one last time.

“Don’t have too much fun without me,” said Robin jokingly, pecking his lips one last time before separating.

“You have fun,” Strike chuckled. “Enjoy family time, uh? Don’t be hard on them.”

“You should apply yourself your own advice sometimes, just saying. How many dinners you owe Lucy?”

“I helped raise her, she should be more grateful,” he deadpanned, and she giggled, coming again to kiss him. “Okay, go, you’re gonna miss the train.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“No chance,” Robin grinned at him and entered the platform, pressing her ticket against the electronic reader, then waving at him before she climbed into the train. He waved back and smiled, standing until the train left.

Turning around to go back to the car, Strike realized he really was swoon about Robin. He wasn’t really the kind of man to be completely whipped, lost on someone until he lost track of time and forgot some of his professional duties. He’d never been like that, but now, analysing how Robin made him feel, how quickly she’d flown into his life and nested in his nest permanently, how easily their friendship had developed into the most intense love he’d known, he had to admit there was a reasons his friends were teasing him so much and were so amazed and surprised by his transformation. A few nights ago over pints with Nick and Ilsa while Robin was  on a night surveillance with Sam, his friends had had to call his attention a few times, between laughter, because he’d be lost in his thoughts reminiscing on a date with Robin, or a bedtime fun activity with her.

Was this what utter happiness felt like? What people’s lives were like when dating someone who was by all means perfect, who didn’t throw crazy tantrums, who wasn’t constantly accusing you of things you hadn’t done, who you could trust wholeheartedly, and who all your friends and family absolutely adored?

Before he knew what he was doing, Strike found himself stopping at  a jewellers, checking out the ring section. Strike had vowed to himself that he’d only say ‘I love you’ again to someone he knew he wanted to spend his whole life with, and if Robin wasn’t that person then who was it? Nobody. But was he really a marriage guy? He’d thought he wasn’t. Then again, it’d be an honour to be Robin’s husband. He’d be proud of that. He had, in all honesty, been saddened by never getting to make invitations when he’d last been engaged, and considered his failed engagement a disappointing low of his life. But was that enough to consider a marriage now?

Why did people even consider marriage? Tax benefits? That was a plus, Strike told himself as he examined a variety of rings in glass exhibitors. But that wasn’t enough. What had moved him to become engaged to Charlotte? Well, she’d wanted the marriage. But Robin didn’t seem to care about that, specially after her own failed marriage. And then there was Dave and fucking Tolstoy… But couldn’t they have all of that without a need for a wedding?

And then again why _not_ get married? Their economy would thank them, yes, but… spending his life under the title of Robin’s boyfriend, Robin’s partner… it didn’t seem to convey all they felt for each other. He wanted to celebrate their relationship with their loved ones. He wanted for Robin’s people to not forever look at her like the woman who couldn’t succeed in marriage. He wanted to be like Ted and Joan, united for life for something more than their own will, united by law, inseparable for all their country, or the world, cared. He wanted the institutionalism of it, to know that the law they defended and upheld at work would protect their relationship too, and safeguard it. And he wanted for Robin to say ‘I do’ looking at him again, but this time to take her home with him, the final test for their love passed with flying colours, the last commitment done, the last promise that yes, this was for real, and yes, they meant it. And, Strike realized, he also wanted to show Robin how firm, how committed, how devoted and how determined he really was to her, to _them_ , after all the stories she had now heard of his lack of commitment and seriousness with other women. He wanted her to know she was going to get from him everything, to the last bit, all nobody else had ever gotten.

“Excuse me,” Strike walked over to the seller, “I was looking for an engagement ring, but I’m a bit lost, there’s so much to choose from…”

“Oh, well how’s your bride, darling?” the elderly woman asked with a kind smile. “There’s a ring to every woman’s character.”

“She’s…” he found himself smiling, against his will. “She’s a simple woman, she doesn’t like big extravagancies or spending tons of money on things, her family has a farm… she likes the farm, the horses, sports… and she loves adventure and action. And she has the most beautiful hands, but she works a lot with them, so a big stone would bother her… and she’s… she’s…” he bit his lip in thought. “She’s a romantic, she loves the little things that speak volumes, you know? So this one,” he pointed to a ring full of stones all over, “seems too much for her, seems like the ring you’d give… a middle-aged, conservative countess,” said Strike, making the woman laugh. “But this one,” he pointed at a simple ring with one little stone, “seems like no effort was made into making it, as if I’d just grabbed the simplest, cheapest, most anodyne thing in the store, and Robin’s everything but anodyne, she’s the woman you make an effort for, you know? And I don’t know what ring says I love you more than anything, and I want to build a future with you, you’re my world, and I hope when you look at this diamond you remember how fucking much you matter to me and don’t think I threw out the money for our future in one single ring like I’m some stupid jerk,” He blushed, and looked up to see the woman’s eyes were tearful. “You okay?”

“Yes,” she cleared her throat. “That was really beautiful. Let me see what I can find, do you know her finger size?”

“Yeah, actually, I’ve got it written somewhere…” he patted for the notepad he always carried in his pocket. “’Cause recently it came up in a conversation, she had to get an old ring resized…”

A  few minutes later, the woman came from the back of the store with a little black velvet box and opened it to show Strike a swirl, dark golden ring with a small, round diamond seemingly held by tongues of gold. It wasn’t sumptuous, and the beauty was mostly on the contrast of the yellow gold with the clearness of the diamond, the movement of the swirls, and the delicate smallness of the diamond. It seemed to belong to a dynamic woman who led a simple yet fruitful life and Strike liked it immediately.  Downside was, it was close to nine hundred pounds, but Strike still bought it,  and as soon as he got to the office, kept it in their safe box, in the depths of it, where he knew Robin wouldn’t look.  He wasn’t going to propose anytime soon, he wanted to know they’d be ready and that they’d take their time to reach that milestone, but he smiled to himself knowing when the time came, he’d be ready.

T hat night, Robin arrived to York after falling asleep in the train to the most wonderful dream with Strike, and she was picked-up, as usual, by her mother. She hugged her and they made small talk in the car, and when they arrived to the house she petted their old dog appropriately, and was surprised to find Stephen and Jenny had come over from their house in Ripon, and Stephen held little Annabel, who had grown considerably and had just turned one earlier that week.

“Hey there! Look who it is, it’s Auntie Robin!” Stephen grinned enthusiastically bouncing the girl in his lap. Annabel was just like her father, aunt and grandmother, with strawberry blonde hair, very short, and striking blue eyes, her mother’s lips and cheeks, and little chubby fists.

“Oh my God look how big she is!” Robin grinned, and she found that the time spent away served for her happiness to come more sincerely, reaching out to hold her niece and kiss her cheek and smiling as Annabel grabbed her hair, fascinated by it. She wondered if her niece would grow to be an adventurous, empowered woman, if she could only do her best to teach her properly. “Happy birthday beautiful! Auntie brought you a present, let’s go get it…”

Five minutes later, Robin had found out a one year old was much more interesting than a newborn. Annabel babbled with enthusiasm, as if Robin could perfectly understand her, bouncing on her lap and happily ag itating the Princess Merida doll Robin had gotten her, after hearing about the story one day from Ilsa, watching it one night on her own in the computer, and finding out, to her own amusement, that Merida was an inspiration and also had a Clydesdale named Angus, which made her feel immediately fond of her. She had decided Annabel would be surrounded by proper empowered female role models, if it depended on her.

“You absolutely nailed it Robin, it’s her favourite film! She calls her ‘Meda’, little thing she is,” Jenny grinned, watching her play.

“Yeah?” Robin beamed, kissing Annabel’s temple. “Ugh, don’t tempt me to get you a bow and a horse…”

E njoying her niece while she was awake and rambunctious, actively crawling around and curiously trying to reach things she wasn’t supposed to touch, Robin entertained herself discovering her personality and loving every part of her that drove their family crazy, until Annabel fell asleep and they sat down for dinner. Jonathan, who had graduated Manchester University the last summer, was home for now, figuring out what to do now, and Martin still lived there, so the family sat down for dinner in the big kitchen table, catching up.

“So how’s London looking, Robin?” Jenny asked with a kind smile as they ate lamb. “You must’ve earned so many new clients after finding that woman, right? Now everybody surely knows you’re the best detectives in England.”

Robin smiled at the compliment, nodding.

“Yes, work is going really well actually. We could even enjoy a nice night off for my birthday, Cormoran took me to the Ritz for a proper champagne toast, I’d never been. And our friend Ilsa organized a restaurant dinner with all my closest friends. It’s been quite a great few months.”

“Hopalong took you to the Ritz?” Martin smirked in amusement. “That guy surely wants to get in your pants…”

“Martin,” Michael gave him a warning look and Martin nodded, zipping his mouth. “We’re so glad you had a lovely birthday, darling.”

“And you got a new perfume, it smells so well,” said Linda smiling at her, seemingly in a more conciliatory mood than last time.

“Cormoran’s birthday present, had me choose whatever I wanted and he paid it,” said Robin. “Yes Martin, we know,” she added, seeing Martin smile to himself, keeping his mouth shut but clearly having some dirty thought. “And it’s okay you mentioned it, because it brings me to what I came here to say. Cormoran and I are dating.”

As she expected, everyone stopped eating and looked up at her with a mixture of shock and surprise.

“Woah,” Jonathan muttered. “But he’s your boss, and old… and also miles more decent than Matthew,” he reflected out loud. “So we’re happy?”

“We are,” Robin smiled small, nodding. “Extremely, as a matter of fact.”

Linda’s face had gotten stiff, and she took a small sip of her wine before talking.

“How long has this been going on? Because not a year ago you were insisting Matthew’s suspicions were unfounded…”

“And they were,” Robin nodded firmly. “Look, just… quit judging for five minutes, okay?”

“I’m not—,”

“Yes, you are Mum, at least admit it,” said Robin firmly. The atmosphere had gotten tense. “You want me to spill the beans then I’m absolutely going to spill. I’ve always wanted to be a cop, always, from my earliest memories, I went to study psychology because I decided forensic psychology was the career for me after consulting with my academic orientator, and the only reason I never said a word to you or Matthew about it was because you three,” she pointed at her brothers, who sat up looking somewhat afraid as she glared at them fiercely, “didn’t go a day of our childhoods without messing with me about it, which is honestly wrong and sexist and disgusting and it’s time someone tells you because we have a new girl in the family and I will not have any of you, not even her Dad, turn her into a scared doll locked in a tower unafraid to follow her dreams like I was turned into, by your mockery, a rapist, a sexist boyfriend and my own lack of courage to speak my mind and confront people because _I_ didn’t want to stir anything. And before any of you mocks me again as if you were any better than me, you get out of your parents’ house, you’re twenty-nine, Martin, achieve something, you figure out your life before you become Martin, and you be a better father than you’ve been a big brother!”

“Robin, what—?” Stephen babbled, baffled.

“I’m not finished,” Robin snapped, cutting him. “I’m not coming here for Christmas, that’s why I came now. I spoke with Cormoran, I told him how sick and tired I am of coming here just to be judged because I love my job too much, and because my own family can so easily believe my crappy ex husband when he claims I’m a cheater, and I’m the gossip of the town with nobody standing up for me, and he insisted I had to talk with you, so owe it him,” she did her best to keep her tone calm because Annabel was asleep upstairs and she didn’t have to pay her mood.

“Why are you punishing us? We’ve been nothing but supportive, always—,” Linda tried to say, full of indignation.

“Have you Mum? Because yes you gave me money for a deposit when I first left Matthew, you encouraged me to leave him when I had to, you gave me the ten thousand you had put into my flat with Matthew, and I’m insanely grateful for that, Mum, I am, I don’t want you to think I’m an ungrateful kid,” she took a deep breath. “But Mum you’re always at me. What did you do when I last came here? I couldn’t even sit here, in the kitchen, alone, to work, without you getting bothered by the fact that I love working on Christmas, or accusing Cormoran of forcing me to work. You’re fully supportive as long as I don’t do things that you deem inappropriate, and I’m done. I hate having to distance myself from my family and my home town because coming here feels like standing in court being cross-examined.” She added with pain in her eyes.

“Robin, we never meant for you… I never meant for you to feel like that,” Linda frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because nothing I do seems to please you guys any more,” Robin sighed, leaning back on her chair and shaking her head. She felt emotionally exhausted, tired of fights. “That rapist took me away from me, took my dreams, my wishes, even the fucking joy of sex, and Matthew didn’t exactly help me find myself again, Cormoran did. He gave me the chance to devote professionally to the most beautiful job in the world, that makes me feel the most empowered and rewarded I’ve ever felt, he trained me and paid me surveillance courses and any course he’d been able to find since that he thought I’d find interesting, rightfully so. He’s made me the second best detective in the country, after him, he’s made me a partner in the agency… I genuinely have a written contract stating forty percent of our agency is _mine_ as junior partner. This is serious for me, this matters to me. I don’t want children, I don’t want holidays spent doing nothing but cooking under the sun in the beach, I don’t want to sit in Christmas doing nothing but eating chocolate and watching TV, conventional lives might fit you and that’s great, okay? Marriage, children, a nice house, calm, unproblematic lives, minimum stress and minimum adventure, that fits you and if that’s what you want for yourselves I support you, but don’t force that on me when it’s not what I want. I want what Cormoran gives me. I love him, for God’s sakes. And our agency. I love working at nights, during the day, weekends, holidays… if in the end I’ve got the emotional satisfaction of giving a daughter her mother back when she hasn’t known a word from her in forty years, or if we catch a serial killer, or finding justice for people who can no longer demand it for themselves, and I love the fact that I get to do my favourite things with my favourite person and I will not stand here a minute longer to be judged for the things that make me happy, all right? I don’t wish to be… Cinderella. I want to be Merida, without a prince to save me because I can fight for myself. And you know what, Cormoran understands that and he loves me for it. He loves me for me, without any need to change and adapt for him, and he encourages me to find out what I like and go for it. He’s the kindest, most supportive man, with the most integrity and loyalty, and generosity, and he’d do anything for me, and I’d do the same for him. And that’s all he should be judged for, not because he makes me work on holidays, because he doesn’t make me do anything, he’s not the boss of me, he’s my partner. I do what I want to do, and the only thing he presses me to do is have days off when I’m owed them, go have fun with my own friends now and then, and come talk with my family when I’m frustrated by them. And he doesn’t deserve your judgement.”

“Well I think she’s spoken clearly,” Michael clasped his hands and winked at Robin. “Well done sweetheart. Look, we’re sorry, and we will be supportive, besides, Cormoran sounds like a nice guy, and if he respects you properly I have nothing more to ask.”

“Yeah,” Stephen nodded. “And we’re sorry we were dicks to you, Robin. I for one love to see you so happy doing your job and being with him, I do. I’m hoping Annabel looks up to you a little.”

“You are?” Robin raised surprised eyebrows.

“Well, I hope she’s less in Casualty, but yeah,” he shrugged. “I want her to know I’m happy with her punching a dude in the groin if they come too close.” Robin snorted a laugh and he smiled at her.

“And I never judged you, I’m the baby brother! I was actually going to ask if it’d be okay if I move in with you for a bit. I want to put some curriculums in London,” Jonathan commented, surprising Robin further. “Yorkshire’s great, but I think youngsters like me should explore the world a little before settling anywhere, and I loved London when I went there on Valentine’s.”

“Oh I’m sure Max wouldn’t mind you coming over for a while,” Robin grinned at him. “I was even considering finding my own place so perhaps you can substitute me, rent’s not too expensive. But you’ll have to work hard, Jon. And learn punctuality.” He shrugged and smirked with a nod.

“I like Hopalong, and having a badass sister. Otherwise it’d be boring,” Martin commented. “And I’ll have you know I have plans to move out. I’m going to Ripon, some friends and I are starting a band. I don’t judge you, you don’t judge me.” He added, as Robin was about to look too surprised, and Robin abandoned her begin of ‘oh God A BAND?!’ and simply smiled and nodded in agreement.

“And I’ll get the birthday cake leftovers from Annabel’s birthday, since we have to celebrate,” Jenny grinned at Robin, going over to the fridge. Robin turned to her mother, who sighed, looking at her.

“I’m sorry, love. I never meant to make you feel bad, you know I love you, and if this is the life you’re happy with then that’s good enough for me,” Linda hugged her from her seat. “You know I’m on your side.”

“Thanks Mum. Means the world,” Robin squeezed her gently, happy she’d listened to Strike and headed over.

“So how did you and Cormoran happen, uh? Don’t tell me it’s been going for ages under our noses…”

So over cake, Robin explained, in the most PG-5 version possible, how Strike had taken her to the Ritz, and then over a romantic walk in Hyde Park they’ve spoken about their feelings and their lives and realized they were really into each other, and had decided to begin dating. She told them how she’d realized she would’ve never cheated with him, and she meant it when she’d assured over and over, to Matthew and to the rest of the world that there was nothing going on with Strike, nor she wanted it to happen, but that ever since she’d left Matthew she had begun to enjoy Strike’s company more and more outside the office, and to realize she really loved him, but she knew that even when the same thing was happening to Strike, both were scared it’d affect their agency negatively and they’d lose each other if things didn’t work out, and yet when they’d finally decided to give it a try, the ‘L’ word had come so naturally and sincerely, and their relationship evolved with such ease and intensity, that they had learned it was the right choice all along.

“So you’re serious, uh?” Jenny smiled proudly at her, the younger brothers having gone to the pub when the chat became too gossipy. “He sounds unexpectedly romantic when you talk about him.”

“He is, and yes, we are,” Robin nodded, and couldn’t help but smile. “His oldest best friends, like Ilsa, who helped me when I divorced and I stayed at her and her husband’s guest room for over a month, all say they don’t recognize him any more. And his sister Lucy. They all say he’s a new man, that they’ve never seen him so in love, whipped and serious about someone, that it was never like that even when he was engaged to Charlotte Campbell years ago. And Cormoran says it all the time, that he’s never been happier. He doesn’t have to swear by it, I’ve never seen him smile so much, grumpy giant he’s always been. He even took me to St Mawes, his home town in Cornwall, because he couldn’t wait to tell his uncle, who practically raised him like a son, how much he loves me. And Cormoran and I agreed that if we do this, and risk as many things as we’re risking, it has to be because we really look forward to future together, because we’re sure this is worth it, not for some fleeting crush. Besides, I know this is huge for him, he’s never liked commitment since Charlotte, because she hurt him proper, she was a liar, and he’s been broken-up with since just because he wouldn’t commit enough or wouldn’t tell his posterior girlfriends he loved them back after a year together.”

“And he’s already told you?” Linda looked surprised, and Robin nodded, clearly smug. She was happily surprised by the way in which gossiping about her love life became a nice thing to do if it was something that made her so happy.

“I was surprised by how fast it came out of my own lips too, but he’s so…” Robin shook her head, speechless. “I’m the luckiest woman in the world, Mum. Seriously, I am. We still have a perfectly professional relationship at work, nothing’s changed at the agency, nobody suspects anything between our employees and he’s hard with me at work when he has to be, no special treatment. But when we’re off work, it’s all red roses, romantic improvised dates, and the best sex I’ve had in my life, and I’m only mentioning it,” she blushed hard, “because I honestly had to tell my therapist about it, because I realized it wasn’t something I ever enjoyed after what happened, right? Ten years, I was always baffled when Vanessa or Ilsa would gossip with me about the things they did and how much fun it was, I didn’t get it. And whatever happens with Cormoran, I’ll always be grateful he helped me recover that part of life and enjoy it for once, not dread it like I did with Matthew. Now if we feel up for it and it happens… I look forward, I’m not cringing and faking pleasure, because he puts me first, he always says if I’m not having fun then he’s not either.” It was easier to mention that to Linda because she was a nurse, and Robin found her mother could still look at it from a clinical point of view and not like her daughter’s being fucked.

“Well sex is an important part of relationships, sweetheart, even if you guys don’t plan on children. Being able to enjoy it, specially after what happened to you, it matters,” Linda smiled sweetly. “I’m happy for you.”

“I didn’t know you were in therapy,” Stephen commented, his ears red because he wasn’t used to such intimate talk at all. “How’s that?”

“Uh, I went back to it after the Ripper, but I didn’t find it fruitful. I enjoyed CBT, Cognitive Behavioural Therapy,” Robin explained, sipping from her wine after enjoying a nice slice of cake. “But the rest, no. Still had a ton of issues, unresolved stuff from Trewin. And then after Raphael Chiswell assaulted me in Little Venice, Cormoran said the agency should pay me proper therapy, and his friend Nick, who’s a doctor, knew somebody who’s really good, so I started seeing her, once every couple weeks now, unless something happens and I call her for more. And she’s great,” said Robin, “real helpful, we talk about everything. I haven’t had panic attacks in ages anyway, at least a year or more, so that’s good, but she helps with anything really. Anyway,” she stifled a yawn and got up, “I’m going to head to bed. Thanks for the nice chat guys, goodnight.”

“Sleep well, love. Tell Corm we send our love if you call him before bed?” Linda asked knowingly.

“Will do,” Robin snorted a laugh at her mother’s guess, and walked cheerfully back to her room, where she lied in bed and talked quietly on the phone with Strike for over an hour, as they both shared their day and talked about their favourite books until sleep overcame them.

  
  


  
  



	9. This love is ours

** C hapter 9: This love is ours. **

Vanessa Ekwensi’s wedding to Oliver Taylor had become the event of the year, even when it was only going to occupy a day of it. Robin and Ilsa were the two bridesmaids, because like Robin, Vanessa didn’t really have many female friends of her own, and Oliver had picked a couple of his best friends for ushers, so they organized a stag and a hen party the following Friday, separately, and on the last Saturday before Christmas, the wedding was scheduled, in Winters Barns, Canterbury. Robin was excited, being the first wedding she’d ever attend with Strike, and being a bridesmaid, in her bridesmaids’ long-sleeved white dress with black embroidery  and a matching beautiful white, loose cardigan that hung like a cape with tight sleeves and a long fall, with only one button to create a good cleavage.

Strike drove them in his BMW, because they agreed it was more wedding-fitting, and they jammed to Bon Jovi on the way to the wedding, happily dancing in their seats and warming up on the way to the wedding.

“Love,” said Strike, as they strolled hand in hand towards the barn through a snowed-in garden, “you look gorgeous.”

Robin turned back and grinned at him, her strawberry blonde hair having recently been cut to above the shoulders ‘ _for a change_ ’ and falling in waves, contrasting with the white environment.

“You too,” she squeezed his hand. “I’m freezing though, I’ve always dreamed of a winter wedding but it’s cold, man.”

“I’ll warm you up nicely if you do your bridesmaid job right,” Strike offered suggestively, and her laughter echoed across the garden, as the sky turned orange. He hadn’t missed her thoughts about the wedding. ‘ _You’ll get yours_.’

An hour later and once Vanessa had become Mrs Ekwensi, having decided on not changing her name, they were waltzing to Train’s ‘Marry me’, and as they swayed across the dance floor, Robin having caught the bride’s bouquet, Strike was seriously thinking whether he shouldn’t just drop on one knee, but he hadn’t brought the ring over. Instead, he separated just enough to look at Robin and smiled warmly, as they swayed with the music.

“Want to move in with me?” he asked. Robin grinned.

“Are you serious? But we’ve only been together two months.”

“But I’ve known you for years, and we pretty much live together in the office, I’m a clean and organized guy, you’re a patient woman, I’ve been wanting to leave my attic for a decent flat for ages, we’re making good money lately…” he shrugged. “And I hate separating from you at the end of the day.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Strike nodded, smiling. “I love nothing like being around you, so… what do you say? I promise I’ll let you decorate, and we can get anything you like.”

Robin grinned impossibly bigger, and nodded.

“Yes. Let’s move in together, first thing next year.”

“First thing,” Strike chuckled, leaning to kiss her. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“If you say so…”

It was a particularly good weekend over all, because the next day during lunch at Nick and Ilsa’s, the Herberts happily announced they were finally pregnant, now three and a half months with twins and with the doctor’s confirmation that miscarriage was unlikely now, although they’d only found out the previous month, as Ilsa had had no symptoms until then and simply attributed her bit of weight gain to not eating healthily enough. It had been a happy accident, when they had stopped trying, and it had been so long-expected that Strike and Robin, who had decided to have no children of their own, almost felt emotional for them, sharing their happiness and happily accepting their petition to be the twins’ godparents. The parents-to-be couldn’t stop crying as they shared the news, and Strike promised Nick that the moment they all returned from St Mawes after the holidays, he’d help him free the guest room to remove the large bed and make space for all the baby things that would soon, undoubtedly, be filling it.

Meanwhile, Robin and Strike had begun searching for flats, but even with them both only needing one bedroom and one bathroom, even with the money saving of no longer paying for rental of different flats, it seemed like nothing was affordable  _and_ close enough to the office.  They weren’t going to Cornwall until Wednesday 24 th of December, as their employees had all gone on holiday from Monday and they wanted to stay behind a little longer to make sure they could tie up a couple more cases before Christmas. So on Monday, Robin was returning to the office from a surveillance when she heard strong shouting from the stairs and frowned, recognizing Strike’s voice and walking faster. Pat was gone for the holidays, as was Mr Crowdy, their only neighbour, so she was afraid Strike was alone and in serious trouble.

“…MY MUM’S DEAD, MY AUNT’S DEAD, WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOUR DEATH CAN BE COMPARED TO THEIRS?! WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I’LL GIVE A SHIT ABOUT— YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN FUCKING DEAD TO ME!” Strike roared, at such a high volume Robin heard him from Mr Crowdy’s door as she ran the last bit of stairs to the second floor. She couldn’t hear the other person’s voice, all she heard was Strike bellowing. “HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY YOU’RE A STRANGER TO ME AND I DON’T GIVE A FUCK, AND AL CAN SHOVE HIS INSISTENCE DOWN HIS—!”

“HEY!” Robin shouted, having barged into the inner office without being heard.

In front of her stood Strike, red with anger and tears in his eyes, looking out of control like she’d never seen him, and in front of him, with a bleeding nose, a large man dangerously slim, pale and old-looking slender man. It took Robin a minute, when both men faced her in surprise, the latter pressing a fistful of tissues to his nose, to realize he was Jonny Rokeby, the 66 year-old rock star who fathered her boyfriend and who apparently had been doing bad with prostate cancer, because he looked eighty. He had lost virtually all his body mass, his hands, neck and face looking scary as the bone nearly came through the thin skin, that had paled considerably. He probably had no hair, as a beanie covered his head, had painted his eyebrows with a dark pencil, and if he didn’t have the weak divergent squint that characterised him so much, Robin wouldn’t have recognized him, as he seemed to already have a foot on the grave, and he was shocking and scary to look at.

“Robin,” Strike cleared his throat, his voice cracked from shouting so much, “I’m sorry, Rokeby was just leaving.”

“Wait,” Rokeby’s voice was weak and hoarse and Robin understood why she hadn’t heard him. He held the tissues to his bleeding nose, which Strike had undoubtedly broken, with one hand, and turned to Strike, nearly as tall as him. “I’ll leave my card, all right? And when you’re calmer, please, please, call—,”

“I’m not going to fucking call you, you piece of s—!” Strike had advanced ready to give him a purple eye, and Robin physically contained him, standing between them.

“Cormoran! Breathe,” Robin pleaded, a hand on his chest, and turned to look at Rokeby, who looked pleadingly at her. “Mr Rokeby, I think you really should go, before he kills you and we get in serious trouble.”

The old man nodded weakly.

“Please, talk to him,” Rokeby begged her, and placed a card on the desk before hurriedly vanishing.

“Cormoran, love,” Robin turned to her boyfriend, who began crying in earnest, and her stomach fell to her feet. “Cormoran… what’s wrong? What happened?” she grabbed him by the shoulders and he slumped on her. Only then did she realize the chaos the office was in. The wall had fist-sized hole that made Robin grateful it was a typical British hollow wall and not brick and stone, the glass door was broken (not for the first time) and a book sat at its feet between the shattered glass, and the desk lamp was broken on the floor. “Shit, love, what’s happened here? Did he hurt you? What…?”

Strike pointed at the desk and shook his head, a tearful mess, dragging his feet to the outer office. Robin heard their farting sofa and knew he’d sit down, his crying loud in the office. Robin turned over to the desk, her heart hammering in her chest, and saw an elegant, typed letter from the developers who had bought their building, addressed to both of them. She took it, narrowing her eyes at the capital letters ‘ORDER OF EVICTION’.

As the letter explained, the developers had had the building checked by specialists who had decided to demolish the building because due to its age it had acquired ‘dangerous structural problems’, and they were kicking everyone out, demolishing it, and building a newer one with newer, better and twice as expensive offices. Because Strike owned not just the agency, but also his attic above, and would be left homeless, he’d been granted ten thousand pounds to help him move out, but it was still a low blow that made Robin need to sit down for a second and her eyes fill with tears. How in heaven’s sakes were they ever going to find offices nearly as good and affordable? Strike had to divide the money between a flat, even if Robin shared those expenses,  _and_ the office, and the agency didn’t have that much money at all. They had been thinking of finding a new, bigger place, to expand the office, that was true, but they had thought they’d have months to prepare a new place, maybe an empty flat, and turn it into a cheap office, not two weeks over the holiday period to move both home and office. Robin knew now the anger Strike was feeling, and the sorrow, had little to do with Rokeby, who had simply arrived at the worst possible time. Strike was virtually losing everything he’d sacrificed so much and worked so hard to keep, and had two weeks to move the entire office and  vacate his attic. And they were going to Cornwall.

T aking two minutes to calm herself, Robin called their developers and after much insistence and threatening with the lawyers, as Strike was being asked to vacate both living and working spaces in the same time Mr Crowdy had to vacate just a tiny office, she got them an extra week to move out, up to literally the last minute before the demolishers arrived. Robin hurried then to Strike, who seemed to have ran out of tears and was holding his head in his hands, sniffling quietly. Robin noticed his right hand’s knuckles were bleeding, presumably from the punch he’d given their wall.  She knelt in front of him and cupped his face, kissing his hair, that felt warm and humid from his distress.

“Hey,” she said softly, “look at me?” he immediately let his hands fall limp between his knees and eyed Robin, so full of pain it felt to Robin like being stabbed. “Listen, so they’re demolishing this, so what? We were leaving, we knew we’d have to say goodbye to this place. I’ve gotten us an extra week to pack just now, so we’ll pack your things, put them in my room in Earl’s Court for now, and we’ll ask Lucy to let us put the office stuff in her garage, she has a big one. We’ll spend today and tomorrow packing, take out as many things as we can, leave the big ones for a company to do on the twenty-fourth before we leave. We’ll spend the holidays looking for some tiny flat we can convert into an office, and when we come back, we’ll empty the final things from the office and focus on preparing the new one, all while you still have a roof over your head at Max’s place. And our last day here, we’ll sit on the floor and get drunk and toast for the place that gave us so many good memories, so much success, where everything started. And then we’ll leave it, and start over somewhere else, somewhere bigger and even nicer, somewhere good. We still have each other, Pat, Sam, Andy, Michelle… we’re not alone, and we won’t be doing this alone, they need this job as much as we do, and we’re a team, we work together, so this will be so much easier than it was to build the agency in the beginning. We have a bright future looking at us, Cormoran. It’s going to be just fine, I promise you.”

S trike sniffled, looking at her like she was an alien.

“You got us an extra week? We have three weeks?” He muttered, and she smiled, nodding.

“And you barely own things up there, so we should finish your attic quickly and have plenty of time to vacate this place. We’ll ask everyone who’s in London to lend us a hand, we have plenty of good friends and there’s nothing wrong with asking for help. We can go and enjoy our holidays, come back with renewed energy and deal with this, together.”

H e released a half sob, half laugh of relief, and kissed her, taking her hands in his.

“I’m sorry I freaked out, I just… I thought of how hard it’s been to find a flat, and I thought it’d be even harder to find an office and I guess I’m still not too used to this not being just my responsibility and all I could think of was that I was going to lose everything, and Andy, Sam, Michelle and Pat wouldn’t find a better job, and I was going to disappoint everyone and I lost it, I lost it…”

“It’s okay,” Robin kissed his forehead. “We all lose our shit sometimes, and I know you’re normally the best in emergencies, you were just caught by surprise.”

“Come here,” Strike brought her to his lap, leaning back on the sofa and hugging her against her chest. “Thank you, I’m so grateful for you… my fucking light in the dark, that’s what you are. My sun,” he kissed her lovingly. “I love you. I promise I’ll do my best not to lose my shit like that again.”

“That’s fine, I still love you the most,” Robin caressed his cheek. “Better now?”

“Much better,” he squeezed her gently, releasing a deep breath.

“Do you think we can talk about Rokeby now?” she asked with the softest, most tender of voices. Strike sighed and nodded.

“He barged in right when I had destroyed the office with me anger, the bastard didn’t realize it was awful timing, and he said he won’t make it far into the New Year and that all he wants is my forgiveness, to fix things with me, to get to be my Dad for just a few weeks and try to give me what he gave Al and Ed. Told him it was too fucking late, that I don’t care, you can imagine. You know how I feel about him. I know Joan said I should talk to him, but that was before I told her Ted’s my Dad and I don’t need Rokeby… and honestly, it feels like I’m being forced to like a complete stranger. It’s gotten to a point where it’s too much Robin, constantly insisting… they make me so anxious, like… like a Dobermann being forced to live in a cage. And I’m going to lose Al over this, and he’s the only brother I have that I have any relationship with, I liked him.”

“What can I do?” asked Robin, ready for anything for him, as usual. He smiled small and shook his head.

“I don’t know. Can’t ask you to fight my battles, Robin… I guess I’ll have to try and talk to them and be civil and maybe if I’m civil and polite and calmly explain how I feel about the whole thing they’ll finally understand, but I don’t know what I can say that I haven’t said, in texting, in emails, with all the education in the world… they’re just self entitled.”

Robin pursed her lips in thought and nodded.

“You are telling me you have done everything you could possibly do and you haven’t obtained proper results, and they’re still going to harass you until Rokeby dies. And then Al’s never going to talk to you again.”

“Likely.”

“Would it be okay if I try to meet with and talk to them? Perhaps they’ll admit comment more easily from an outside party,” said Robin. “Sometimes people admit the truth better if it comes from an external party, like with mediation. It got me a divorce.”

Strike looked at her in awe.

“You want to pull another stunt like with Charlotte? I loved it,” he hurried to say. “But I can’t ask you to sort my shit…” Robin smiled.

“I hope this is way more polite than with Charlotte. Love, you’re not asking me anything, I’m offering, I’d do it without asking if I wasn’t afraid of intruding too much. Look, you didn’t ask for this bullshit, and I did study some psychology, and everybody likes me, right? Al knows me, he knows I’m cool. Perhaps I can bring them to reason. I don’t know how, but I don’t want you to lose Al knowing there’s one card we didn’t even give a chance to. Besides, we’re together and we’re a team for life, aren’t we? Means your problems are my problems.”

“Okay,” Strike smiled softly, nodding. “You do that. I fucking love you.”

“I fucking love you too,” Robin kissed him, smiling. “And I’m about to make you forget your every problem…”

S trike sniggered into her lips, and she giggled, kissing him harder, her hand wandering into his shirt.

  
  


  
  


  
  



	10. A family affair

**Chapter 10: A family affair.**

A fter release, they spent the rest of the day packing Strike’s things, and were able to bring them all to her place at the end of the day. Robin phoned Al before bed, asking to meet him and Rokeby and discuss things, and once everything was agreed, the next day, while she left, Strike, Michelle and Nick started packing the office.  Robin had agreed to meet the Rokeby’s at Jonny’s manor in Cowley, to where she drove in Strike’s BMW, more appropriate for elegant occasions. Robin knew her appearance would be important, because people like the Rokebys only even looked twice at people who seemed about as relevant. So, she put on her best suit, with high heels and a low-neckline blouse, did her make-up and put on her long beige coat and black gloves. Her hair was too short now for a bun, so she left it in its natural loose and straight shape, and put on her Narciso perfume and her newest necklace. Strike said she looked gorgeous, which definitely was a confidence boost, and so she left, a bit more nervous than she’d hoped she’d be.

R obin listened to calm music in the car to soothe herself and boost her confidence a little further, and after a long drive she finally arrived at the large, sparkling white manor. Al himself greeted her at the driveway where she had been told to park, by a huge, gorgeous round fountain. He was in a shirt and jeans, but Robin liked being dressed up more than the Rokebys would be, so they’d see she was serious business.

“Nice new hair! Can’t believe you’re dating Cormoran,” Al took her hand with both of his, smiling warmly. “ _You’ll_ knock some sense into him. Can’t believe he’d break Dad’s nose...”

“We’ll see,” Robin smiled small, and followed him into a marble entrance full of posters of Rokeby’s concerts, then walked up a staircase decorated with framed guitars on the walls, and into what seemed like a small sitting room slash office. Rokeby lied on a divan, a coffee table contained snacks and a bottle of whiskey with three glasses ready to be filled, and Robin was invited to sit on one of two armchairs after shaking her host’s fragile hand.

Around them, everything spoke luxury, with photographs of Rokeby’s best times on the walls, and a bookshelf full of Vinyl albums.

“Excuse my appearance,” Rokeby grunted from the effort of sitting up against leopard-patterned cushions. He had a t-shirt and an IV connected to his arm that brought fluids from a transparent bag hung on a metallic rack near him, “final stage,” he said, his voice still weak. “So, Al says you’re Cormoran’s girlfriend and partner in the agency, he says you’re an intelligent and very capable woman, we’re very grateful you offered to mediate between us.”

“I’m only doing this because Cormoran’s very distressed about the whole thing and facing difficult times in his personal life, and I love him and want to help him. I want to make it clear I’m doing this for him, not for you, I don’t want… any hopeful and false expectations. He’s still not going to talk to you,” said Robin, and Rokeby’s face fell a little.

“He might not look like me but I’m telling you, he surely has the Rokeby’s stubbornness,” Rokeby lamented.

“Why do you care so much what he thinks of you now, Mr Rokeby? He told me about his two meetings with you when he was younger, he told me how much you hurt him and his family, you called him an accident to his face when he was seven, you’ve only even looked at him once he was famous, it’s no wonder he wants nothing with you. How can you expect anyone to want anything to do with you after forty years of pain and disappointment? Of waiting for at least a birthday card and getting nothing, of hoping you’d at least hug him once… he’s had to _lose_ a leg for you to look at him. How grave is that?”

“I know, I know,” Rokeby shook his head, pouring them three whiskeys on the rocks and taking a sip of his. “I didn’t give a shit, when he was born. It was the seventies, and I was a stupid twenty-five year old, reckless, misbehaved, a drug addict and a horrible man, in my first marriage. Had a daughter, Maimie, beautiful little girl. And then my marriage was in rocky times and I went and slept with Leda, who was this extraordinarily talented, gorgeous woman, had a voice like an angel. We began having a proper affair, because I was an idiot thinking with my dick and Leda didn’t care I was married, and the sex was amazing. Then she tells me she’s pregnant, and it’s mine, I broke it automatically, I was terrified that baby would fuck up my marriage. Blamed Cormoran and Leda for what was purely my fault, and anyway, we were all in the same circles so Shirley found out, left me, couldn’t even see Maimie for months until my lawyers got me visits.”

“You deserved it,” said Robin, who had no sympathy for cheaters nor for a father who’d abandoned his child.

“I fucking did,” Rokeby snorted, nodding. “And Cormoran paid the price. For years, I kept telling myself fucking boy and fucking Leda, you know? I was a stupid shit, me. So I did my best to forget about them for years, then in the 92, Cormoran came, freshly admitted to Oxford, all that temper… he threw my money to my face, as a manner of speaking,” he snorted a laugh at the memory. “I was forty-four then, much more mature and grown, no more drugs, a nine year old Al and seven year old Ed living with me, my beautiful wife… I was in a much better place, happier, and had been reconsidering some things in life, Cormoran too. But still my lawyer at the time, Gillespie, kept saying Cormoran would come for my money. And my manager. When you’re rich and famous you don’t really make many life decisions Robin, everybody decides for you, you know? People don’t imagine, don’t know… and it was other times, now the fans cared about my fuck ups, so they were constantly telling me to behave, stop drugs, stop cheating, stop being a womanizer, be a good father, good husband… that came easy, I was ready for that. But then they also said forget about the Strikes, ‘cause they’re only trouble. All day speaking shit about Leda and Cormoran to my ear, convincing me they’d sell me to the press, ruin my reputation, get my money and spend it with that Whittaker loser I’d somehow heard from. So when Cormoran requested to see me, and actually is the only time in his youth I was sober enough to remember him, being honest, I expected that, and I was told to smile politely and try to bribe him or soothe him so he wouldn’t be trouble. I don’t think my people had expected him to become a successful Oxford boy. And then he came, shouted at me to stick my money up my arse, I was impressed!” his eyes lit and he snorted, then coughed, gasped, and took a sip of his whiskey and a deep breath. His nose was all bruised and had surgical bandages now. “I thought this is my fucking son, right here, showing the Rokeby temper and sticking me in my fucking place. And realized right then everybody was wrong, he didn’t want my money, he didn’t give a shit about me. It’s the first time I remember feeling fond of him.”

“Then why didn’t you do something then? His mother died within months from that,” said Robin, frowning. “You didn’t even send a letter.”

“Honestly? I didn’t think it’d make a difference. I thought I had gotten it all wrong with them and if I came into his life again he’d just punch me proper, I thought if he didn’t care, then whatever I did wouldn’t make a difference.”

“It would have. He was grieving, his mother’s murder’s never been solved, and he thinks Whittaker killed him and has to live with the knowledge that he was judged and cleared off it and the investigation closed. It still weights on him, had he known his father was going to show up, use his lawyers and his money to help get her justice… it would have made all the difference,” said Robin firmly.

“Well then I fucked up again,” Rokeby sighed. “Yeah, no wonder he hates me, he should. But I didn’t have interest in him because of his fame, I had it from the time he came and showed me who he was. And then he went and became a soldier and… people were still whispering in my ear what to do, what to say. All they care is PR, fired them all. Well, Gillespie retired, but I fired the others. Now Al’s my advisor, the only honest one, the only one who actually gives a shit,” he added proudly smiling at his son, who grinned. “But that wasn’t until I was diagnosed with cancer and I thought if I’m going to die then I’m not gonna have these assholes whispering in my ear until the last breath I take. They’re snakes, that’s what they are. But it was also mainly my fault because I let it all happen with full knowledge. They’re the ones who told me to extend my wallet when Cormoran lost his leg, to start diplomatic relationships before he fried me with lawyers. I didn’t think he would but then I thought… perhaps he’s changed. Perhaps now without a leg he’s furious enough to drag me to hell.”

“As if his leg would grow back for that?” Robin said sarcastically, and Rokeby laughed dryly.

“I know, it was stupid. He’s obviously not that kind of person, he’s much better than me. But that’s when I told Al, you go meet your brother, check on him. Al’s been my little spy since.”

Robin turned to glare accusatory at Al, who raised his hands as if claiming innocence.

“My likes for him are genuine, Dad only convinced me to show up, afterwards I was a fan, right Dad?”

“Yeah, he’s always been,” Rokeby agreed. “He’d tell me all about his big bruv, all about it. And the more he’s told me over the years, the more I realized I had been a dick the whole time, that I had fucked up, but Al told me how badly he felt about me, so I told Al, why don’t you try and convince your brother to talk to me? Why don’t you invite him over one day? Cormoran never agreed, so… I said to Al, don’t fuck your relationship with him for me, don’t insist, don’t nag him, it’s beautiful they get along.”

“You still have gone and lied to the press for years. Mentioned Cormoran when you shouldn’t have, said you have a good relationship when it’s all a lie,” said Robin unforgiving.

“You don’t miss one, don’t you?”

“My job and my relationship depend on that,” said Robin unimpressed, taking a long sip of her whiskey.

Rokeby nodded and leaned back against the soft cushions of his divan.

“Right,” he nodded. “Look I’ve put my career above most things in life, including family, most of the time, that’s true, I won’t deny it. And I have to tell the press good stuff, if they knew the dick I’ve been… they’d never forgive me, and I want to be remembered properly. But I put the truth in my bio, it’s coming post mortem.”

“You _don’t_ dare to mention Cormoran in your biography!” Robin couldn’t help the outburst of indignation.

“Why?” Al scowled. “He should be honoured! It’s all the truth right there.”

“Yes, when Rokeby’s dead and not here to be dragged! But Cormoran will hopefully be well alive, with a business that’s very serious, we deal with murders and missing persons, we can’t be put on the spotlight because the boss is mentioned in a book. Besides, Cormoran will hate that! Don’t you know anything about him after all these years, Al?”

“I— I thought he’d love it!”

“No! Cormoran is not like you both, when is it going to fit in your little brains?” Robin snapped with exasperation, and Rokeby looked impressed to be insulted so smoothly in his own house. “He doesn’t want to be talked about, he doesn’t want his family to be gossiped about, he’s embarrassed of his relationship to you,” she pointed at Rokeby senior, “so much he didn’t consent to anybody in the Army knowing you are his biological father. He completely despises being mentioned to the press, being used for PR strategies, and if he finds out he’s in the book, he’s going to _burn_ _your legacy down_. I’m warning you, Rokeby, he’ll leave you guys alone he wants nothing to do with you and he wants no money and no trouble, but if you make a single public mention about him, specially in a big thing like that… well his best friend’s a lawyer, one of the best there are if I may add, and we have contacts in _The Sun_ who we frequently do jobs for and who therefore owe us a few favours, one of whom has been dying to get Cormoran to give him an interview for the past five years. He’s always said no, but he might change his mind if you piss him off proper.”

“Then what do I do, Robin? Because I don’t know any more, and… look, I’m telling the truth, from the time I learned I was dying, the cancer was diagnosed too late so this was always going to end bad… I’ve wanted to make amends with all my kids, it’s been the most gratifying experience, but there wasn’t been a way with Corm.”

“Why do you care now? If you truly give a fuck about him, do the one thing he’s ever asked of you, to leave him alone. Otherwise it’s just selfish, like nagging him for a year with zero respect to his multiple petitions to leave him alone, or to his work, or to his family, which lost a key member in February. Didn’t it cross your mind, that he was fucking grieving and you guys wouldn’t give him a break?”

“We didn’t—,”

“Of course you didn’t know!” Robin interrupted Al. “You had no right to know, and you shouldn’t have needed to. If you give a shit about Cormoran, Al, and weren’t so self-entitled and arrogant like your father and your whole family, if you loved him you would’ve simply respected his wishes to not speak to Rokeby like he told you the first hundred times, but you don’t listen, and you both made him feel ignored, like his true wishes didn’t matter, like all he was to you was an element to make Rokeby happy because that’s all you care about, his happiness and looking great for the press. No wonder he’s furious at this family.”

“Fuck,” Rokeby puffed. “Okay Robin I’m a selfish, arrogant bastard—,”

“Wallowing in self-pity is not going to impress me,” she said coldly.

“I’m sorry!” Rokeby began to look desperate, his voice even weaker. “I care now because the shadow of death changes people, Robin. When you’re close, you begin to re-examine your life and to feel the most remorse and regret, and then you just wish you’d been better. Am I selfish for want for my children to talk fondly of me when I’m gone? Yes. It’s not right to want to make peace with Cormoran for my own peace of mind but believe it or not, I also think of his. I know he thinks he doesn’t need me, that he thinks I’m crap, and he’s right, but he lost Leda already and I… I don’t want to go and leave him thinking I never gave a fuck about him. I want him to know that, even if it took me an awful long time, I finally understood I fucked up majorly, and that he’s a good man, one I’d be proud to have fathered, and that I’m proud of him, and I love him. I thought if I confessed publicly the shit I’ve been, he’d see I don’t give a shit about PR any more, that I truly mean it when I say I want to have at least one day, one day with him, so that when I go he knows that he was a happy accident, that he knows I’m happier because he’s alive, and the world’s a better place because of it,” Robin looked down, shaking her head. “Look I’ll take him from the book, won’t even mention it if that’ll be better for him. And I won’t nag him again, and I don’t want him to come to my funeral or suddenly value me or anything, he’s got no reasons to do that. But will you make sure that once I’m gone, that he knows I’m sorry I hurt him? That he knows I changed my mind, that I don’t think he was a bad accident, that he’s one of the best things I ever did, that I’m proud and I love him? Just so… it won’t change anything, but perhaps it’ll help him move on from my shit and feel better about his conception. I don’t want him to spend his life seeing himself as some mistake. I don’t want him to live with a burden like that.”

Robin took a deep breath and nodded.

“I’ll do what I can,” she assured. “But if you really want to do something good for him… the only way to his heart is disinterested actions of kindness and generosity, like Jesus. No bragging, no publicity, no PR, nothing of that. Certainly nothing public. He’s a generous man, he’s the kindest man I know, and even with all the shit his mother did, he loves her because he always sees the best of people, and focuses on the way she loved him and her kindness. Give him something like that he can focus on after you’re gone, you can’t fix everything with money, Rokeby, specially not with someone who’s been so poor he’s not greedy at all. Give him acts of disinterested kindness so big, he can focus on something other than your bullshit.”

Rokeby nodded, and patted her hand with a skeletal hand of his own.

“Thank you so much Robin, you’re an angel,” she nodded. “Can I know… the person who died. Did Cormoran love them?” Robin nodded again.

“His Aunt Joan, his mother’s sister-in-law. Cormoran says she was a second mother, a surrogate mother, just like Ted, her husband, Leda’s big brother, was a surrogate father. Ted and Joan have a little house in St Mawes, they’re very humble people. Ted’s still alive, ex SIB, Cormoran’s just… like him, a little twin. Admired him always,” Rokeby smiled small, nodding. “They’re also physically nearly identical. Cormoran says Ted taught him how to be a proper man, and to be clean, organized, respectful, kind, generous, everything, even the love for our job. And Joan mothered him, enrolled him in his first school, bought him uniforms… they don’t have much but to Cormoran what they offered was a palace, and was everything to him. They always looked after him and his little sister, and paid his Oxford education when he rejected your money, I don’t know how they did it, but they’d do anything for Cormoran, they’re the kindest people I know. But Joan got sick, cancer too, the summer before last. Cormoran spent… seven months,” Robin remembered, her voice soft. “Travelling there every week or two, took time off work for the first time in years to be with her. Then chemo made her too sick, she couldn’t have it any more. Cormoran couldn’t spend her last Christmas with her, because he was stuck in London with the flu, didn’t want to give it to her. And she died in front of him, while they talked for the last time. They scattered her ashes in the ocean because they’re big with the ocean, Cornish to their roots,” she cleared her throat. “Anyway, it broke his heart indeed, so much it took him months to explode. So, yeah. You guys didn’t help at all with all the nagging.”

R okeby nodded slowly.

“Fuck,” he puffed. “I’m really sorry, Robin. D’you reckon there’s anything… anything at all I can do to help him now? Anything he needs, we don’t have to tell him it was me. It’s just, I’m his biological father and I’d like to do something fatherly with him before I go. One thing at least.”

Robin sighed, conflicted. She didn’t want Cormoran to be mad at her either, she already felt she had said too much about his life that he could be angry about. And she didn’t want for Rokeby to intervene in his life when Strike wanted nothing to do with him.  But she also remembered Strike’s anguish about the eviction, and even though she’d sugar-coated things for him, she knew chances of finding both a new office and a convenient flat in such a good zone again, for an affordable price, were extremely low.

“Cormoran’s been evicted,” said Robin at last. “His building, he lives above the office, it’s being demolished due to structural damage. We have three weeks to leave, and we don’t have a place of our own. All I could offer him was the room I rent at a friend’s, we put all his things there, and we’re looking for an office space. We wanted it to be a little bigger, because we’ve started to run out of space, but not much bigger, and we wanted it in a similarly good area because it’s better for business, and then we’ll find a flat nearby, for us to rent together. But… well you know London.”

“That place is a decrepit shoebox, he’s not going to find a nicer place for a similar amount of money,” said Rokeby.

“Yeah. And even when the business’ doing great, we also have employees now, many more expenses, we haven’t been able to find anything good yet. It would mean a lot to him if you helped him. Not pay for it, he doesn’t want your money… but perhaps you know someone who’ll make him a good deal, not for being your son, but because he’s a decorated veteran and our agency’s well-known and we do great things for people. We’ll worry about the flat ourselves. You want to do a fatherly thing well, my parents gave me ten grand years ago for my first flat, I said don’t give him money but you’re a creator, right? Get creative, find a way he’ll accept, because it’s killing him. That’s why he broke your nose, because you barged in right when he got his eviction notice, and we have four employees, one of which with multiple sclerosis, one of advanced age, one with a baby, who are not going to find a better job and Strike’s afraid they’ll end up on the street if we can’t find a new office quick enough to resume our job.”

R okeby nodded.

“Count me in. I’ll find a solution, there has to be one,” Rokeby scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “Thank you, Robin. What you’ve done… means everything.”

Robin shrugged, getting up.

“I better go back, we still have a lot to pack.”

“I could come and help,” Al offered. Robin smiled small and shook her head.

“We have help and… you’re not his favourite person right now. And he’s a very proud man.”

Rokeby senior insisted on walking her to the car, and as he held the car door open for her, he thought of something else.

“What’s Cormoran’s favourite colour?”

“Uh, green.” Rokeby side smiled, nodding.

“Green. And do you know… what music he likes?”

“Lately he’s all about Tom Waits and Bon Jovi, but he likes most music really. Our building has a music bar and he can hear the music from his attic, lures him to sleep,” said Robin, and he chortled.

“Good boy,” he nodded to himself. “He treats you proper, right? He’s not a dick like me, because he had Ted and Leda, right?”

“He’s honestly the best man I’ll ever meet,” said Robin sincerely, not hurrying to close the door. “All he wants to do is help people out. Make this world a little fairer.”

“That’s right, that’s my boy, I wouldn’t have raised him any better,” he rubbed an unexpected tear off his eye hurriedly. “Do you think I could send Ted a card? I want to thank him and… give him my condolences, but I can’t travel so long any more and I wouldn’t want to intrude either.”

“I think it’d be a kind gesture, Jonny,” Robin conceded with a small smile. “Can I ask you one last thing?”

“Anything.”

“Cormoran told me, when you contacted him months back… that you said there’s two sides to every story, that there are things he doesn’t know. What is it?”

“Well, part is all I told you,” said Rokeby. “But then also… I did write him some birthday cards, later. I started when Al was born, in the 83, when he was nine. I had Al and I realized he wasn’t my first son, I already had one and… I began to feel bad about things. To feel like if I could be a good Dad to Al, I could’ve been to Cormoran too. I wanted him to come hang with us sometimes, meet his little brother. I wrote him a birthday card for his ninth birthday, tenth, eleventh… up until he was eighteen, and he came to the office, and when we talked I realized he wasn’t getting them, because he didn’t mention any of it, he acted like I hadn’t done shit. Truth I could’ve sent him a present but… I didn’t even know what he liked.”

“He never got a card, it’s one of the things he despises you about. D’you think Leda…?”

“No,” Rokeby shook his head. “No, you see… my lawyer, Gillespie… well nobody knows this, not even Al, because that man could destroy me and I’m already dead, but I don’t want him to destroy my children. When I got cancer, I found out he’d been stealing money, I was stupid enough to not look properly at the papers he made me sign and he’s been getting more money than me from my work,” Robin scowled. “He also acquired my rights to a few songs, out of my own fucking stupidity. I should’ve realized… anyway, he’s the man I trusted to give Cormoran the cards. I knew he was nomadic, so I didn’t know an address and I had a newborn to worry about, then two babies… but Gillespie’s always been wickedly smart, so he promised me he’d find him, give him personally, the cards from me. Then he said Cormoran threw them to the trash every time he gave them. I trusted him with everything about Corm, even the money I was supposed to give him… Robin,” Rokeby leaned closer to her, “I swear I didn’t know Gillespie had tied things in such way Leda couldn’t get a penny. I didn’t know, I told him only to get the judge to make sure the money was invested in the right things for Corm, because I didn’t want him to live in poverty, I had no idea he’d pretty much prevented them all access. Manipulative snake, he was, most lawyers are, hopefully Corm’s friend’s better. But mine only wanted to drain me like leech, and they managed it. Anyway, I haven’t told anybody because it’s fucking humiliating, because I was so stupid it’s shameful… I didn’t want Al to think I’m such a stupid looser. But yes, Gillespie is multi-millionaire now, because of me, because of his traps and his manipulation, took advantage of every fucking time I was high or drunk to make me sign shit. I had no fucking idea he’d been nagging Cormoran to return the money either, Al told me when Cormoran told him recently, and I had no idea, I swear by it, had I known… well why would I lie now? Can’t earn anything.”

“Did Gillespie really retire?” Robin inquired, frowning.

“No. I hired a good childhood friend, who’s kid had become a proper lawyer, one with integrity. Got a bunch of crap on Gillespie and I threatened him, as soon as I got sick and figured everything out. You see, I couldn’t drink or anything any more, and I was putting my things in order for my death, started to see my signature in bunches of papers I would’ve never knowingly signed. Then Al told me how Gillespie was a nightmare to Corm about the money and I realized he’d kept the birthday cards too, because one kid less I’ll be buying presents too, when Gillespie just wanted my money. That’s when I began plotting in secret, and eventually got him gone. Told him either he left or I’d ruin his life with what my new lawyer had found on him. Tons of embezzlement, could go to prison for years, but I don’t have enough to actually prove it in prison, so I made him think the only reason I wasn’t going to the cops was because I’m too sick for trouble, but that’s not true. I just don’t have enough, dude’s a smart snake. Cormoran wouldn’t believe me, anyway.”

Robin looked attentively at him.

“You swear you sent those cards.”

“I swear. I never forgot his birthday. November 23rd, perhaps… it’s forty this year. I wanted to give him this, when I went to him but… when I saw him so violent I figured he’d just break it. I had stopped writing them thinking he just was breaking them or something, or not getting them, and that then he wouldn’t want them. But I found the truth after his thirty-nine and decided, that this year… perhaps this year he’d get it, I could give it to him myself,” he dug inside his coat and pulled a little golden envelope he gave Robin. She opened and pulled out a card, with a picture of Land’s End on the back. Rokeby’s handwriting covered the other side. ‘ _Happy 40_ _th_ _birthday, Corm. I love you and I’m so proud of you. I was a dick at 40, you’re already everything I wish I could’ve been. Rock on, son. Xxx Dad_.’ “I truly had it before you called, Robin. I truly… I’m not lying.”

“Send me all about Gillespie, what you have. Not to Corm, this is between you and me,” said Robin, and put the card in the envelope, in her purse, before looking back at Rokeby, who seemed surprised. “I’m a detective, _I_ will figure out if you’re lying. I will find out your truth, even if you’re dead by then, and I will make sure Cormoran knows who his father was, and why he never got the birthday gesture he longed for. If you ever forgot his birthday, I’ll know. If you lied, I’ll know. But if you’re telling the truth… he will know.”

“Would you really…?” Rokeby’s eyes filled with tears. “Dear Lord, you’re an angel.”

“No, I’m just someone who loves Cormoran very much, and who hates to think he’s living his life thinking he was an accident he shouldn’t perpetuate. That’s what he said when he told me he didn’t want to have kids, you know? And I don’t want them, so it works for me, but I want him to not want them for the right reasons, and not because he truly feels like that, or because he thinks if he had a shit Dad he’ll be a shit Dad. And if he had someone who cared enough to remember his birthday and sent a card and tried to include him in his family… he should know. At least for the little boy who was heartbroken year after year.”

“Thank you,” Rokeby nodded. “You’re a good person, Robin. You’re everything I wish for him. Someone who puts him first, always. That’s what he deserves.”

Robin agreed, nodding, and Rokeby closed the door. She rolled down the window.

“Hey Jonny!” she shouted as he turned around, and he looked back at her. She bit her lip and looked at him sadly. “I hope you get to go in your sleep. Peacefully.” Rokeby smiled small and nodded.

“Thank you, angel.”

  
  



	11. Long for a father

**Chapter 11: Long for a father.**

“You’ve been looking awful thoughtful since you met Rokeby.”

Strike came out  of The Victory, where they’d been having lunch with Ted, Ilsa, Nick, Dave, Lucy and her boys, her husband having had to rush back to London that morning for an emergency at the office. It was the day after Christmas, all of Strike’s things were packed inside of Robin’s bedroom in Finborough Road, and half the office was packed and in Lucy’s garage. Robin had been odd since the visit, stuck in her head, and while they’ve been so busy with packing and then Christmas, Strike hadn’t asked anything, but now she’d said she wanted to get some fresh air, as the pub was indeed warm for a Southerner, which was too warm for a Northerner, and was sitting on a step, as the narrow street The Victory was at was all  large  steps, the terrain too steep for just a road.  She was looking at the ocean, and looked up at him as he came to sit with her.

“It’s really cold out here, you’re going to catch a cold,” said Robin softly.

“I’m good, London’s worse,” Strike elbowed her playfully. “So was it so awful, with Rokeby?”

“It wasn’t,” she reassured him. She hadn’t known what to say, because the papers on Gillespie had arrived on her mail the next morning and just with digging in a little Robin could see there was definitely crap with that lawyer, and investigating about Strike’s life behind his back made her feel extremely guilty, but telling him without knowing yet exactly what had happened felt like getting him angry for nothing. “He was a gentleman, and Al was there too and I get along with Al.”

“Look, even Ilsa says something’s up with you, so I know it’s not in my head. So something has to have happened. Is this about the eviction? Because you convinced me, we’ve got this, it’s going to be fine.”

“It’s just,” Robin took a deep breath and looked at him in the eyes, deeply conflicted. “You know I love you more than anything in the world, right? You know your happiness is a priority for me.” Strike side smiled and nodded.

“Of course.”

“Cormoran… I don’t want you to hate me…”

“I could never!”

“It’s just that… I think you got it wrong with Rokeby,” he frowned deeply. “Perhaps not entirely wrong, he _was_ a dick. But I have a hunch, and I know you say not to trust hunches, but sometimes hunches have saved our asses and I feel this is a good one. And my hunch says Rokeby might have tried to be your father and someone might have been sabotaging it, and that Rokeby wanted to tell you, but he knew you wouldn’t believe him and he didn’t want you to think he was making lame excuses anyway.”

S trike sighed and put an arm around her, kissing her shoulder.

“I know you always see the best of people, but he’s a manipulative asshole, Robin. And you’re a kind person, you even see good in some of Matthew’s actions, it doesn’t surprise me you want to think he’s not so bad, but unfortunately, he sucks.”

“Cormoran you didn’t look at him in the eyes like I did. I know he wasn’t lying. I know,” said Robin. “He can be the best liar but I’m a hella great detective and you know it, and my personal bias against him should’ve made him harder to be believed in my eyes, harder to be defended or trusted, and yet… I looked at him in the eye and I saw a man who’s honestly sorry and who honestly wants to make things right with you. He apologized five dozen times, I know that doesn’t change anything, that’s why I didn’t tell you but… I’ve been investigating a little, behind your back. I’m sorry,” she added, “but I just needed to check my hunch, see how sharp my instincts are. So yesterday why you guys were busy with the turkey, I got in my laptop and… well Wifi here sucks, but I did manage to follow my hunch a little and Gillespie, his former lawyer? He’s got some nasty reputation, Cormoran. Something tells me he really did sabotage your relationship with Rokeby, and his attempts to contact you.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because as you said yourself, he seemed in love with Rokeby or better said, with his money. There’s a rumour that he was forced into retirement by one of his clients, someone who found out he was stealing money and manipulating contracts. Think about it, if Rokeby fixed his relationship with you, he’d be buying you presents here and there, perhaps paying you private schools, expensive trips, putting you in his will. That’s money Gillespie wouldn’t be getting, would he? And Al said Rokeby didn’t know Gillespie was harassing you about the money, I asked Rokeby about it and I don’t think he lied. I think Rokeby’s going to die without you having a single chance to spend a day with a man who might not be your Dad, but who honestly cares about you and wants to make you happy, all because of Gillespie, and it’s so unfair I have to dig, I can’t help myself. But I didn’t want to tell you anything in case I only confirmed Rokeby’s a fucking bastard and made you more upset.”

S trike sighed, and fixed his eyes on her attentively, in a mixture between love and exasperation.

“Do you really think I should see Rokeby?” he asked after a long minute. Robin thought about it for a minute, and then nodded slowly.

“Yes. Cormoran, you were a child, there are things you definitely don’t know, your Mum can’t give you answers any more, and if he dies you’ll never know. If he lies to your face you’ll know, won’t you? So what are you going to lose from meeting him just once? Talk football, have a whiskey, he likes that. Talk music, you both love music. Find common ground and see for yourself what your instinct tells you. You spend your life figuring out the truth about others and you don’t know shit about yourself, and I’m telling you, Al says he has two, three months perhaps. You will regret it if you let him go without even trying to find some answers and besides, he’s super stubborn just like you, but I got him to promise he would never mention you publicly or nag you again if it bothers you so much.”

“But what about all the crap Mum told me about him?”

“We’re talking about a woman who fell in love with Jeff Whittaker, can you trust her instinct? Besides, she probably didn’t know either, she talked from what she saw, just like you. But look at icebergs, you only see the tip, and yet there’s a whole load of ice underneath you can’t see. Joan told you to meet him, and I’m telling you, you’re going to want to do it, even if it pisses you off.”

“Fine,” Strike nodded, giving in. “As soon as we’re back home I will call Al, and tell him I want to have a whiskey with Rokeby when I’m back in London. Football, music…” he nodded to himself. “If you say that’s what I should do, then that’s what I should do.”

“Really?” she looked at him, surprised.

“Of course,” he smiled small, reaching a hand to cup her face. “I trust your instincts and your hunches. I know even if I end up fighting with him… we should try to have one civil conversation once in our lives. At least for that little boy who wanted his attention so badly.”

R obin grinned, and pecked his lips.

“Can I keep investigating behind your back?” Strike roared in laughter.

“Sure thing, I’ll pretend I don’t know,” he joked, kissing her again. “But promise me that whatever you find out when you’re finished, you will tell me. Good or bad, I want to know.”

“Okay,” Robin cuddled into him, her arms around his waist. “There’s something else you and Rokeby have in common.”

“Is it?”

“You both think I’m an angel.”

Strike snorted a laugh and kissed the top of her head.

“No shit Sherlock.”

The next day, Ted received a basked of goodies, along with an anonymous letter whose handwriting Strike and Robin recognized as Rokeby’s, thanking him for being such a lovely Dad to Strike, giving condolences for Joan’s death, and wishing him a good time enjoying the goodies, signed ‘Your anonymous, insanely grateful friend’. Robin confessed Rokeby had asked for permission to do so, and she’d thought it’d be sweet, and Ted had indeed taken it sweetly, which made Strike soften up towards Rokeby so, t ruthful to his word, Strike went to meet Rokeby as soon as they were back in London, early in January. Robin had told Rokeby exactly how much she’d told Strike, telling him she had thought it was better to reveal the stuff he’d told her when she had evidence to back it, because otherwise Strike wouldn’t believe crap of it. So Strike went, the entire time thinking of Robin to keep his cool and avoid punching Rokeby square in the face instead of saying ‘hi’, and as they sat in Rokeby’s music room drinking whiskey and listening to old Tom Waits vinyls Rokeby had, the old man dug in his pocket and pulled an old photograph, black and white, that he handed Strike. It showed Rokeby and Leda, laughing, as they sat together, seemingly naked, although the photograph cut before Leda’s breasts could be seen.

“She was insanely gorgeous, and so generous too. So loving,” Rokeby said, smiling fondly. Strike had never seen that photograph and turned it around. He read Leda’s handwriting and his heart skipped a beat ‘ _Love,_ _February 14_ _th_ _1973_ ’. “I genuinely think we made you that night. Best fucking thing we ever did together.”

“I’m a Valentine’s Day boy?” Strike asked, surprised.

“I think so. Your Mum had an old camera, took that photograph, we were having a lovely day, smoking cannabis and drinking and sexing… she said she wanted to remember the moment. She send it to me weeks later, when she had it developed, and now is yours. Your old folks, on their happiest day.”

Strike took it because Leda had held it, her handwriting had marked it, and Robin had convinced him to come in an offer of peace.

“Mum said my birth was hell, that if men had to give birth we would’ve gotten extinct.”

Rokeby broke in laughter, old and dying as he was.

“That sounds like fucking Leda, indeed. Well she’s right, besides have you seen your head? _I_ wouldn’t want to birth what undoubtedly was a huge baby. You know what I also kept? It’s a secret, you can’t tell my wife,” he moved over to a drawer and after much rummaging, pulled out an old paper full of tape everyone, as if someone had destroyed it and then repaired it. Time had made it yellowish, but when Strike took it, he smiled instantly seeing it was a letter from Leda. “I’m sorry it’s in such shit state, initially I was furious and broke it. But then…” he sighed. “A part of me couldn’t just throw it away, so I kept the pieces. And when your Mum died… I don’t know. Something changed, something clicked, and I fixed it the best I could. It’s the last I got of her, I want you to keep it.”

Strike read it quietly. In the letter, Leda angrily and heart-brokenly regretted Rokeby’s refusal to care about his son, but announced she had given birth to a huge baby boy she had named Cormoran Blue Strike, and proudly said it was Rokeby’s loss if he didn’t want to be his Dad, and that she’d make sure Cormoran became a man miles better than Rokeby could ever be. She had pasted a little black and white photograph of Strike in the end, a fat, round, hairy baby, that had also needed tape to be repaired.

“Thanks, Jonny.”

“Least I could do. You know, Leda made many mistakes but… she fucking loved you, I know that much.”

“Did you ever love her?” Strike found himself asking, for reasons he couldn’t understand. After a moment of thought, Rokeby nodded.

“Yes. But I loved Maimie more, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her for who at the time I understood as a mistake. Maimie was three, I couldn’t leave her, Cormoran. It sucks, it’s not fair but… it was easier to abandon you than her. And having you both wasn’t a possibility at the time, I was trying to save my marriage and Shirley was only willing to give me a chance if I swore to never see your Mum or you. Then our marriage failed anyway, but by then I had fucked up enough with Leda that going to you guys wasn’t an option. Besides, she had left the city and was shagging Rick Fantoni by then. And I decided to remarry and forget, move on. But kept those pieces.”

“For forty years, you kept it.”

“Of course.”

Strike looked at him, touched.

“You called me an accident. We met when I was seven, I don’t know if you… I know you were high.”

“Yeah, Robin told me. I’m sorry I don’t remember.”

“You said I was a fucking accident. I had told Mum to put me in my best trousers for you. I wanted you to be proud of me, and when Gillespie fighting with her and your manager fighting with her made me cry, and you appeared, I tried to stop crying immediately so you wouldn’t think I was a tit. I just wanted you to give me a hug, to say you were proud. I thought… for years and years I thought you were trying to find me but we travelled so much you couldn’t, and one day you’d find me and be like… there you are, son, finally. And then you said I was a fucking accident,” said Strike, finding he needed to let it all out. Rokeby frowned.

“I’m a fucking disgusting man sometimes, Corm,” he put a hand on his shoulder. “My biggest regret will always be doing it all wrong with you. But, let an old man give you a piece of advice, okay? Never, _never_ let anyone tell you who you are or what you’re worth, no matter what. You’re a hell of a good man, Robin says a wonderful boyfriend too, and you’re loved, you’re respected, and I’m fucking proud as hell of you. No matter what anyone else says, people just want to cause pain sometimes and will say what it takes, but you know your truth. If at the end of the day your conscience is clear and your heart is pure, that’s all that matters. So, I was a dick, I was young and awfully stupid, it’s not an excuse, I’m inexcusable… but know that had I been a little smarter, and sober, I would’ve never dared to even think you were an accident as a bad thing. You are the happiest accident, son. You are.”

S trike nodded, and saw what Robin had meant. There was truth in Rokeby’s blue eyes. Same ones Al had.

“I also saw the letter you wrote to my uncle.”

“Robin said he’s who you call Dad, said he’s such a role model… I figured I owe him so much, making such a great man out of you. I wanted you to have the best Dad and he did the job and he does it perfectly, and I’m sincerely grateful. And I know what losing a loved one feels like so… I wanted to tell him, you know. But I didn’t want him to know it was me. How did you know?”

“The handwriting. I remember it from the legal papers with Mum.”

Rokeby took a deep breath and patted his shoulder.

“Will you believe me if I said I’d give anything to go back in time, and never miss a day of your life? To make sure you weren’t so poor, and take you to school, sit with you doing homework, play footy with you… to do with you all I did with Al and Ed. I’d give anything. But I’ll leave a happy man knowing you turned out so well. Knowing you’ll be fine.”

Strike didn’t know what moved him to do the next thing, but he pulled the velvet box of Robin’s ring out of the inside of his suit jacket and opened it, showing Rokeby the ring.

“Two days ago Robin and I turned three months together, and today is the last day of our building, where we met and where everything started for us, so we agreed we’d have a picnic dinner on the floor, just us. It’s all empty now, but we wanted to say goodbye properly. And I was going to do this later, we’ve been together for so little… but I know she’s the one for me,” said Strike. “So… I was thinking of proposing tonight. What do you think? You’ve done in a bunch of times.”

Rokeby laughed, bringing the ring closer to his eyes.

“What did you engrave inside?”

“Oh, the date when we met. 29th of March, 2010. And the Latin words ‘Semper Fidelis’. Means forever faithful. She was married to a cheating scumbag once, and so I thought… I wanted it engraved in gold that I won’t do that to her. Ever.”

“You’re a bloody thoughtful man. And you speak Latin?” Strike nodded, and Rokeby grinned. “I think you’ll do a great thing proposing to her now. I could tell she really loves you and she’s a wonderful person and…” he shrugged. “Life is short. Make the most of it. Besides, just because you become engaged today doesn’t mean you have to marry tomorrow.”

Strike smiled and nodded, appreciative.

“Thanks Jonny. Well, it’s late,” he checked his watch and stood up. “I should go, but… it’s been nice, honestly. I liked talking music and Mum and… maybe I’ll come again soon.”

“I look forward,” Rokeby stood up, and seemed less dying for a moment. “It was a wonderful afternoon, Corm. Thank you… next time you’ll tell me about the engagement, uh? And I’ll tell you all the dos and don’ts for a wedding,” he winked, chuckling. “I’m so happy I met you.”

“I think I am too,” said Strike. “People change,” he realized he’d told Robin the same thing, when he’d finally stopped being a dick and gave her a proper birthday. “I haven’t always been a great guy either, and I’m more or less a shit uncle but… my nephews gave me another chance. Robin gave me another chance. If it’s not late for me, it’s not for you.”

“You’re too kind. Can I… hug you?”

“Yeah.”

They hugged gently, because of Rokeby’s state, and Strike thought he heard her sniffle, specially because as they separated, Rokeby quickly looked away, touching his eyes. Strike smiled small, nodding to himself. His father had finally told him all he’d needed, found him and hugged him.

  
  



	12. Us at last

**Chapter 12: Us at last.**

Strike made sure to arrive to their now empty office the first, and straightened his tie, lit candles all around the floor, scattered a few red roses over the stairs, leaving one on a step now and then for Robin to pick up, and the rest in a bouquet at the end of the stairs in front of the office door, and set on the floor in the outside office a couple cushions, two mini bottles of beer and pasta salad he’d made. They didn’t have a kitchenette any more, and the light had already been cut off. He had just finished preparing everything when he heard slow steps up the stairs, and he opened the front door just as Robin was coming in, in her green dress, holding all the roses, and beaming. It was nearly like the first time they met, without her nearly breaking her neck down the stairs, and they both grinned.

“You take my breath away,” he spoke first, and leaned to kiss her.

“I know I said no more flowers,” she said as their kiss ended. “But this was fucking sweet.” Strike chuckled.

“You’re beginning to curse nearly as much as me.”

“As if that were possible,” she rolled eyes and walked inside, her jaw easily dropping at the romantic view. “Cormoran! This is beautiful…”

“Well, this is where I met the love of my life,” said Strike, hugging her from behind lovingly. “I want to bid it farewell properly. With a good beer, and my truest love.”

“I love you all the more for this,” Robin grinned at him. “I’ll miss this place.”

“Me too,” Strike invited her to sit on the cushion with him and they clinked their beers. “To this our shoebox, an absolute dump, but our dump nevertheless. To the memories and the stories we leave here, and the ones we’ll keep making together. And to all the dreams this place made a reality, and which we’ll carry with us forever.”

Robin’s eyes filled with tears and she beamed, taking a sip.

“Cheers!”

They spent the dinner crying-laughing about their best and worst memories in the office, including when Robin had rescued Strike from John Bristow, or when Robin had nearly killed Saul Morris. At last, Strike encouraged her to get up, and he took her to the room next door, which had served as their inner office. It was also candle-lit, leaving an empty circle in the middle, and he set his phone on a corner, playing the classic ‘Stand by me’  but instead of the original, Kina Granis’ cover, which was slower to dance . He also walked to a little machine that sat in the middle of the room and which he’d bought for the Herberts’ babies, and pressed a button, which made it turn on and illuminate the ceiling with stars. Robin’s jaw dropped and he walked to her and offered her a hand.

“Will you dance with me?”

“Always.”

Together, they began to sway around the room in circles under the stars, in a place that was so special to them. Robin couldn’t help feeling emotional and she bit her lip to keep her tears at bay, her chin on the back of her hand on his shoulder as they danced around.

“I wish this moment would last forever,” Robin whispered.

‘ _If the sky, that we look upon… should tumble and fall. And the mountains, should crumble to the sea… I won’t cry, I won’t cry, no I won’t… shed a tear. Just as long as you stand, stand by me. So darling, darling stand, by me, oh stand by me…_ ’

Strike smiled, kissing her temple.

“I’ll do my best to keep it unforgettable.” He suddenly stopped dancing and knelt in front of Robin, taking her hands in his. She looked down utterly confused.

“Love, you all right?”

“I’ve never been better,” he grinned. “Robin, I know we haven’t been together long but… I’ve known you for years, and that’s all I need to know you are everything I ever wanted, and everything I’ll ever want. I don’t see a future if you’re not in it, my love. I want everything with you. Our first home, perhaps a cat because dogs are too high maintenance for our job, to grow our agency, to grow old and wrinkly with you, solving big cases and challenging ourselves, and to die at a hundred and ten years, in your arms, with you. Forever is not enough for me. I want forever and a day, Robin. And I want to spend my every breath loving you madly, deeply, and limitlessly. So,” he dug into his coat and pulled out the velvet box, opening it to show a ring that sparkled with the candles. Robin’s jaw dropped and she couldn’t keep a tear from falling, “Robin Venetia Ellacott… would you do me the highest honour of making me your faithful, loyal, and hopelessly in love husband?”

“Oh my God, Cormoran…” Robin’s shock broke into a beaming smile. “Yes.”

“Yeah?” he snorted a laugh of disbelief and she giggled nervously, nodding.

“Yeah! I want to marry you. It has always been you.”

He beamed from ear to ear, seeming to become a decade younger, and slid the ring on her finger before standing up and giving her a tight hug that lifted her off the ground, both beaming as he swirled her round and round. When he finally set her back on the floor, she grabbed his face and kissed him hard, having never felt happier and luckier than she felt in that moment.

**. . .**

“Mmm… what’ya doin’?” Strike’s voice came with its morning depth and slight hoarseness behind her, and Robin smiled as his big hands cupped her shoulders and his lips found her neck and cheek.

“I want to have something before Rokeby’s dead,” Robin replied, motioning to the stack of papers that, along with her laptop, she had spread over the kitchen table.

It was the morning after they’d become engaged, and since Max, having been warned in advance by Strike, had spent the night at his boyfriend’s, they’d celebrated through the night and then Robin had woken up first, unexpectedly energized, pumped by the engagement, and let Strike sleep a few more hours while she began working. So now she sat in her panties and an old t-shirt Strike had from a Blue Öyster Cult concert that fit her like a mini dress, her dressing gown around herself and a tea mug in her hand, and Strike arrived in his pyjamas and  dressing gown and  still looking sleepy.  The knowledge that she’d see that sleepy bear expression every morning for the rest of her life only improved Robin’s mood.

“I see,” Strike yawned and scratched his beard. “D’you want bacon?”

“I’ve had some beans, but you give yourself what you want, love,” said Robin, and he kissed her lips briefly before dashing for the fridge, his stomach grumbling in the process.

“Just five minutes and I’ll join ya, I need some diesel in my stomach first…”

Robin sniggered, shaking her head.

“You’re like one of those coin machines…”

“...that feeds with food instead of coins,” Strike finished the frequently heard sentence with a smile. “Good thing we’re not having kids, imagine all you’d be eating all pregnancy.”

“I shudder at the thought,” she snorted a laugh.

“I’ve actually been thinking,” Strike commented as he cooked, “perhaps I should just get a vasectomy. I asked Nick about it, and we’d save on condoms and pills, drugs are no good for you. And it’s just fifteen minutes, Nick said. Not that he’ll ever want one, but for me it kind of makes sense, doesn’t it? Known all my life I wasn’t going to be a Dad, it’s not like I’m suddenly going to change my mind at this point. And you don’t want a kid either.”

Robin looked up from her papers and frowned lightly.

“Are you sure about that? You hate hospitals and it does sound like a painful thing, and I do need to take birth control anyway to control my otherwise crazy cycles.”

“Yeah but if one day you forget it, no big deal,” said Strike. “I hadn’t done it before because of what you said, but… I don’t know, I think it’s the best way to ensure we remain childless. And besides, for me it’s much less of a big deal than it is for women, the logical thing is that I do it.”

“Well if you’re completely sure I support you wholeheartedly, but only if it really is something _you_ want.”

They heard the door open and a minute later, once his paws had been properly washed, Wolfsgang dashed upstairs, licking their feet and running around.

“Hi Wolfie!” Robin reached to pet him. “Hello, hello!”

“Bacon’s not for you, sorry mate,” murmured Strike as Wolfgang tried to climb against his legs.

“Well hello hello!” Max came upstairs, grinning. “Good morning, so, do we have something to celebrate or did I buy the good champagne for nothing?” he asked holding the bottle up.

Robin grinned and waved her finger with the new ring, that she hadn’t stopped touching with her thumb because it was both weird and comforting to have a ring back.

“Depends on whether you think this rock is worth that champagne?”

Max laughed and cheered, rushing to hug her, as Robin stood up.

“Congratulations future Mr and Mrs Strike! That is one _gorgeous_ ring Cormoran well done! It’s incredible you came as a near divorcée and leave as a fiancée to a proper man who actually deserves you.”

“Thanks Max,” Robin blushed appreciatively.

“Congrats bro,” Max shook Strike’s hand. “And you’re making bacon, will you be my husband too?”

“I think a certain Sean would murder me,” Strike joked. “But I’ll share it.”

“Good enough! We’ll leave the champagne for a more appropriate hour, now tell me everything, how was it?”

Robin gushed for a couple minutes about the romantic proposal while Strike finished breakfast, and they moved her papers aside to have space to sit and eat, and Max listened attentively, with the appropriate ‘aw’ and ‘oh’ every now and then.

“...and I’m not going to be Mrs Strike. We’ve decided I get to keep my name,” finished Robin proudly. “But we’ve quickly agreed on a January wedding, next year.”

“Yeah, I think I said yes to that at some point between the third and fourth orgasms,” Strike commented, and Max laughed, putting his tea down to avoid choking on it.

“Wait, have you told anyone yet?”

“You’re the first one, because Cormoran told me he kicked out to Sean’s for the night,” said Robin with an apologetic smile.

“Then privileged old me ought to take a picture so you can send your family, now we have good lightning!” Max pulled out his mobile. “Come on, get cute for me.”

“I _am_ cute,” said Strike in false indignation and smiled, wrapping an arm around Robin with bacon-shiny lips while Robin moved closer and kissed his cheek, showing off the ring for Max to photograph.

“You guys are freaking…” Max sighed, a dreamy look in his eyes as he stared at the photo in his phone. “I want this framed…”

“You do that, I need to get dressed and dash out. I’m meeting our accountant for a consult and then meeting Al for lunch, got some questions about this whole mess,” Robin motioned to her papers, grabbing them as she stood up.

“Home for dinner? Champagne, kisses?” Strike asked giving her a pouty face that made her laugh and kiss him.

“You got it, _fiancé_. Meanwhile, keep looking for offices, okay?”

“You got it.”

The men watched her rush downstairs, Wolfgang after her thinking that rush could only be for food, and Max looked questioningly at Strike.

“What’s this case about?”

“Not a case really. Robin has a hunch that Jonny Rokeby’s lawyer sabotaged my relationship with him, and wants to prove it,” said Strike, who only knew the bare minimums. “And I think there’s suspicion about fraud, extortion, misappropriation and embezzlement. Robin will know, she used to do our numbers.”

Max nodded slowly.

“She really doesn’t take days off does she?”

“Nope,” Strike popped the ‘p’. “Her ideal honeymoon will probably be a work roadtrip, but as long as she marries me in a year’s time, you won’t hear me complain.”

The older man laughed, patting his back.

Meanwhile, Robin had her papers and laptop in a briefcase and had gotten dressed. She rushed out of the flat in Finborough Road and got in her car. In Bond Street she found the office of their accountant, a necessary hire after their number of employees had exceeded two. Samantha Pickens was a middle-aged blonde woman, serious and charming, who had taught them a few accountant tricks and remained the most knowledgeable and skilled accountant Robin had met, even though she had married one. Robin sat with her in her tiny but well-illuminated office, with big windows and clean-cut furniture, and after Samantha noticed the ring and congratulated her, they dove straight into the papers Robin was bringing.

“These are documents facilitated by Jonny Rokeby that record all the expenses related to his son, Cormoran, from 1974 when he was born to 2013 when Rokeby’s lawyer, Peter Gillespie, who was in charge of all the expenses and management related to Cormoran, retired,” Robin explained. “I have highlighted the ones that called my attention, you see all the normal child support up until 1992 when Cormoran turned 18, but then here, look, December 2nd 1994, this is the day Cormoran’s mother Leda died. And here, Gillespie in Rokeby’s name extracted £5000 without justification, right? I couldn’t find… I don’t think it explains why they were extracted from the bank anywhere.”

“Let me check,” Samantha adjusted her glasses and looked at the papers closely. “It’s not just that payment though. Every January 1st since, there’s an extraction of £3000 for ‘personal expenses’. Any idea what that is?”

“No, Rokeby added notes here in post-its, the yellow ones… those are highlighted with interrogation symbols.”

“Rokeby would’ve had to authorise these payments though, Robin. Unless there was a contract that specifically authorised Gillespie to extract any amounts in his name without a need to justify them, which Rokeby would’ve been stupid to sign.”

“There is,” Robin dug between folders of papers and pulled it out for her to see. “Dated of 1974. Rokeby told me at the time he was constantly high and drugged and would sign whatever he was given without question, he doesn’t even remember signing it.”

“Well from these papers I can tell you that everything looks normal until you look at those payments you mentioned. Everything else is justified, and there isn’t really nothing else after Cormoran turned eighteen, with the exception of an exorbitant loan in 2009 to Strike’s name, so… I think you’ve got it right, those payments are odd. Why are you digging in this, if it’s Rokeby’s business?”

“I want to know if Gillespie can be brought to court for embezzlement or something, with these unjustified payments. Rokeby’s family now and I’m a detective, I promised to look it up.”

“With this? No. But if you can find out where this money was put and whether it was something illegal or not, say drugs, then you could have enough to accuse him of something,” said Samantha. “I’m no lawyer, you’d have to speak with one. But this isn’t the first time I’ve heard of odd stuff in numbers managed by Gillespie, Robin. Careful with that guy, okay? There’s something shady about him.”

As Robin walked towards the restaurant Al had invited to for lunch and talking, she couldn’t help feeling like her hunch was too strong to be wrong. She had a feeling there was something big here, something she ought to check out. A payment on the same day of Leda’s death seemed too much of a coincidence to ignore. While walking, she phoned Shanker who, after a few rings, attended the phone.

“Hiya Robin! Whatsupp?”

“Morning Shanker,” said Robin, walking quickly through the large Bond Street to the bus stop. “Listen, is there any chance you could find out for me where Whittaker gets his money from? I mean, he doesn’t really work, right?”

“Uh, I think he’s got some band, but I can dig.”

“Listen,” said Robin, “between you and I, okay? I’ll tell Cormoran when I’m certain, but while this is just a hunch, it stays between us. I want to know, following my hunch, whether it’s possible somebody powerful is paying Whittaker first to kill Leda and then to keep him quiet. So I need to know if he has amounts of money that can’t be explained just by his obvious business, perhaps you know someone who can dig around his group of mates and get us some answers? I’ll pay you the usual feed.”

“If this is about Leda, and another attempt to get that bastard arrested… goes on the house, Robin. Call you when I got something, might take a while though.”

“Whatever you get make sure it can stand in court, Shanker. No funny business, I have a feeling this is our last chance to bring her any resemblance of justice.”

“Got ya.”

Shanker hung up. He never really did goodbyes.

Half an hour later, Robin entered the riverside restaurant where Al was already waiting at a small table, in his nice blue suit that went with his eyes. Robin accepted a kiss on the cheek while apologizing for the delay, conscious now more than ever that now, she and Al were basically family, and Al brushed it off with a smile, getting them drinks.

“So I see congratulations are in order,” Al grinned at the ring on her finger. “I see my brother has good taste.”

“Oh yeah, thanks,” Robin smiled, blushing. “It was very romantic truthfully.”

“I bet. Dad told me Corm told him something about it yesterday, that he wanted to do it, Dad’s going to be so happy to hear… he was very excited.”

“Cormoran told him?” Robin inquired, surprised, and Al nodded.

“Didn’t he tell you?”

“Actually we didn’t really have time to talk about how it went just yet. We only saw each other for dinner, got engaged and forgot the rest. Anyway,” Robin got serious, “I wanted to talk to you about the papers your Dad gave me. I know he didn’t tell you some stuff because he didn’t want you to think less of him or something, but you should know because I need your help here.”

“Anything. I’d never think less of Dad.”

“Your Dad committed a major stupidity forty years ago, trusting Gillespie so much he signed a contract giving him full control of Cormoran-related expenses without checking what he was actually signing. Per that contract, Gillespie’s been able to do whatever he wanted with the money, as long as it wasn’t too big for the accountant to suspect, and considering your Dad’s multi-millionaire, I don’t think your accountant would’ve blinked for a few thousands going missing each year, but I have. Al, Gillespie took five grand the day Cormoran’s mother died. They’re not justified.”

Al paled, his jaw dropping slightly. The shock was such he forgot to bring the glass of wine to his lips and it just remained awkwardly half way.

“Are you implying what I think…?”

“That Gillespie might’ve paid to have Leda killed? Yes,” she murmured. “But he can’t know we suspect because I don’t have enough to properly accuse him and we don’t want him going in the defensive and hiding under a rock. He’s still an extremely powerful man, partially because he was stealing from your Dad under his nose for years.”

“Jesus Christ… I knew he was… bit too money-centred, but I never thought… why do you think he’d do that?”

“Because as you said, Gillespie’s obsessed about money. Your Dad gave me over forty years of account papers to analyse so it takes a while, but I’ve already seen that each justified payment to Gillespie, for ‘legal costs’ and those umbrella terms people write when they don’t really want to say, they seem inflated, Al. Your Dad, who’s never managed his own money and has no real perception of what things cost, didn’t realize, but I go counting my every penny and I used to manage the agency’s economy before we got an accountant, and I can tell you I’ve noticed many occasions in which Gillespie collected exaggerated amounts of money for things that don’t really make sense for me. Like, every payment to his ends in zero, which is weird. Prices aren’t always exact round numbers like a thousand, five thousand… no, you get decimals, you get more complex numbers… but not with Gillespie. All his expenses are ten thousand grand for legal advice, five thousand for legal management… it’s inflated. It’s as if this glass of wine cost twenty three pounds and I made you pay fifty, see what I mean?”

“I see,” Al nodded. “But it doesn’t seem like enough evidence, right? Like it’s clear to us but Gillespie would say… what’s his favourite fucking word. Conjecture. That’s what he says to everything.”

“Well yeah, he’s wickedly smart, he’s tied things up very nicely, I don’t think we’ll ever catch him for that. But you’ve known Gillespie forever, right?”

Al shut up for a moment as they ordered food and once the waitress was far away, he nodded.

“Since birth.”

“So is he the type of guy to handle things on his own or… do you think he used some of this exorbitant amounts to pay third parties for things? Like, your Dad told him to send Cormoran birthday cards he never got, who do you think Gillespie could’ve gotten to do that?”

“Well, Dad told him explicitly to do it himself, but if he didn’t… it had to be Ronan O’Brian. He was Gillespie’s assistant, goes with him everywhere. Whenever Gillespie was too snobbish for something like, going to a meeting early on a Monday, he sent Ronan.”

Robin nodded, writing it down in a notepad that, copying Strike, she had begun to carry everywhere a while ago.

“I also want to know… I know you were nine, but do you remember ever seeing Gillespie with Jeff Whittaker at the time? He’d look like…” Robin searched on her phone for the picture she’d first seen years before of Whittaker entering court for the trial on Leda’s murder, and handed it to Al, who looked attentively, narrowing his eyes in thought.

“I think… well my memory’s not the best, but I have a vague memory of going to one of Dad’s concerts at the time and I was hanging with my little brother Al playing football near Dad’s trailer, in a parking lot backstage. Anyway, I remember this guy Whittaker stormed past us, because he snarled at Ed for nearly hitting him with a ball. And then I vaguely remember on the same night, I heard Gillespie fighting backstage, while Dad was performing, and when I turned over to see what was going on… I think this is the guy he was fighting with.”

“Do you remember what they fought about?”

“No… I couldn’t even hear. The music, you know… I only remember they were loud enough that several people were looking. But Mum would know better, she was there, want to talk to her?”

Robin looked up at him in surprise.

“You think your mother would be happy to talk to me about this?”

“She’ll do anything if I ask, and she’s in London, since Dad’s…” Al shrugged. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Thank you so much Al, that would be wonderful. Also, you’ve given me an idea,” Robin looked nervously at him. Would this be too much to ask? “Do you think you could maybe talk with your sisters and get me to talk to Shirley Mullens and Carla Astolfi?”

“Them? Sure, I’ll talk to my sisters. Why do you want to talk to them?”

“Because they were your Dad’s partners around the time Cormoran was born, I want to know what was the arrangement around him when he was little. I know what your Dad says but… I can’t just believe him with no one else to vouch for it, you know that. I need full reassurance before I bother Cormoran with this.”

“Okay,” Al nodded. “Anything you need, Robin. D’you think there’s any chance that… you know, that you’ll figure everything out before Dad dies? On time for them to…? I mean Dad says it was great between them, yesterday. But if you get them to really be okay, before he dies…”

“I can’t promise anything,” said Robin. “But there are still two months, right? And I’m giving it my best.”

“I appreciate it, Robin. You don’t know how much.”

Robin sighed, nodded and reached out to squeeze his hand gently over the table.

“I’m sorry things have gotten so rough, Al. I truly am.” He managed a sad half smile and nodded.

“We fucked up with Corm, I know that. But I know what having him as a Dad is like, how awesome it can be… I only wanted for him to have a bit of it. It never seemed fair that he didn’t.”

“I know,” said Robin. “He did get a Dad, thought. Perhaps not Rokeby but… Ted’s pretty great. And I think he might’ve been more fitting, for the man Cormoran is. I doubt he would’ve ever felt like he fitted in the type of life you guys lead.”

“Yeah,” Al nodded. “Maybe you’re right.”

  
  



	13. Lost in chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year ;)

**Chapter 13:** **Lost in chaos** **.**

In the absence of an office, Robin turned to the library to work on the cases they had and on Rokeby’s investigation. She was so absorbed, that she forgot about telling anybody about the engagement and she didn’t realize she was about to miss dinner until the library kicked her out for the day and she turned the sound back on her phone, which showed dozens of texts and calls, many of which were Strike wondering where she was at this hour and if she was okay. She cursed under her breath, seeing the time, and texted him.

‘Shit Cormoran I’m so sorry, was at the library to work, had to silence the phone and then lost track of time. I’m on my way home. xxx’

‘Good to know you’re alive. There’s food in the fridge.’ Came his cold reply a few minutes later, and Robin cursed under her breath again. A text from Max made her curse another few times as she walked to the underground.

‘So your fiancé and I are here in our best suits, champagne in hand, ready to toast to your marriage. It’s Sunday, we’re worried about you, where are you? x’

Robin texted him a quick reply.

‘In the doghouse, for the looks of it xx.’

It took Robin a further hour to get to the flat, and when she entered the dark, quiet place, she found herself in a familiar situation, feeling the shame and embarrassment of being too absorbed with work that she’d missed something important, only that this time she couldn’t bring herself to find an excuse. This was their engagement celebration, Max had bought champagne, she was supposed to have told friends to have them over and she didn’t know if Strike had done it for her. And yes, she loved their job and she was doing important things, but she also knew she could’ve and should’ve taken a Sunday off, at least off their other cases non Rokeby related, specially considering she had left her partner and fiancé to spend the day in the computer alone searching for a new office space, as without their office, activity was paralysed. She should’ve been there sharing the workload after lunch with Al, she had promised to make it to dinner at least, she knew resentfulness was the bare minimum she should be expecting from Strike.

Hearing Strike’s snores from the hall, Robin went upstairs and her stomach dropped further when she noticed Max had cooked one of his famous casseroles, which she loved so much, and most of it was uneaten, the bottle of champagne unopened, and instead they had run out of beer.

After a quick dinner as quietly as possible, Robin entered her room, using only her phone to see in the dark, not wanting to wake Strike up. She saw his navy suit neatly folded on top of her counter, waiting for being ironed again before going back into the closet, presumably after having been worn the night before but not enough to be dirtied, and saw Strike was curled in his side of the bed, facing the wall. Robin sighed and got into her pyjamas, sliding in bed next to him. Even as he slept, he seemed to exude coldness towards her. She kissed his back, pressing her lips against his t-shirt, and put a hand on his hip. It took her a long time to fall asleep.

Strike woke up before the alarm in the morning, and when he saw Robin asleep next to him, he immediately remembered why he was mad at her. He didn’t bother with a shower and dressed quickly, finding Max up early having tea.

“Good morning,” Max said tentatively. “Want some tea?”

“No, thanks, I was just getting a glass of water before I leave. My friend Nick goes into work later today and has a couple hours to go see some offices with me. What are you doing up so early?”

“Filming starts early today. Isn’t Robin going with you?”

“No, I haven’t told her. Anyway she has tailing this morning. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Okay, good luck!”

“Thanks, you too.”

Strike met Nick in Fulham half an hour later, where they’d both checked some offices from the computer. As they walked, Strike updated him on the engagement, and on how Robin had spent their first day of engagement MIA with work.

“On a Sunday?” Nick frowned, coffee in hand, as they strolled down the street to the estate agency where he had a friend. “But I thought you’d paused business until you get an office, as you don’t even have where to stack files right now.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Strike grumbled, dragging from his fag. “I am allowed to get mad, right? Because I’m thinking I don’t want to be like Matthew, I’m supposed to be the understanding fiancé who shares her passion and I know part of what keeps her so busy is this new Rokeby investigation that she’s doing purely to bring me some truth, I appreciate it. But you’d think she could spare two hours of a fucking Sunday to sit with her new fiancé and have a glass of champagne, right? She’s barely even sat with me to look for offices these days, she’s just obsessed about Rokeby. I think she wants to have answers before he’s dead, but I… I already accepted my father was a dick, I lost the chance to have fun with him already, I don’t want to miss out on my time with my fiancée too.”

“All I can tell you is if Ilsa missed on a date with me, right after our engagement, for court, I don’t care how important the case was, I’d be furious, and so they would be if we did something like that. How many times have we been in the doghouse for less?”

“You? Barely. Me? With multiple women multiple times. But Robin and I’ve never had a relationship fight.”

“You’re getting married, see the first one as a milestone. I think you two are going to need to set stricter boundaries between work and life, because otherwise? You’re never having a personal life, my friend. No romance. It’ll all be work.”

S trike puffed, groaning.

“I knew this would happen, I fucking knew…”

“Be happy at least it’s not you in the doghouse.”

At the estate agency, Strike only got more disappointed and frustrated seeing no good options in their area. Today their building was being demolished, and he was being told by the experts that they wouldn’t find what they were looking for, prices had gone up since 2009 when he’d first rented their former office, and they’d have to settle with another shoebox for twice the money they had been paying, unless they wanted to go as far from the City as Lewisham, approximately.

Walking Nick to the hospital, Strike told him about his meeting with Rokeby, and how he had had a good time but still felt hyper resentful about Rokeby, and still found it insanely odd and difficult to spend time with him, it felt forced.

“That’s normal, Oggy,” said Nick. “Look, you’re a big guy, you’ve tried… if it doesn’t feel right, don’t force it, okay? Two pieces of a puzzle don’t fit better by slamming them together harder.”

“You’re right,” they stopped at the hospital door. “Well here’s your stop. I’m going to go back to Max’s flat and keep digging online for an office. I honestly don’t know what I was thinking getting engaged now, a wedding, a new flat and a new office all in one year,” he puffed. “How am I going to pay this?”

“Either crowdfunding or… you wait for the flat,” Nick sighed, patting his shoulder. “I’ll see if I can find you something on my break, okay?”

“Thanks Nick, I appreciate it. Have a good day.”

“You too. And try and fix things with Robin, uh? Think of the things she’s forgiven from you without even an apology.”

“Yeah… I know.”

A s if on cue, Strike was nearly in Earl’s Court when Robin phoned him.

“Firstly, I’m very, deeply sorry about last night,” said Robin as he pressed the phone to his ear. He could hear the street in the background. “I know I haven’t been doing my part enough with the office hunting, I know you’re on it now, and I’m on it too, okay? I found something online, I’m on my way to check it out, it’s in Battersea. It’s not… Tottenham Court Road but… look, it has a good look and it’s affordable.”

“Okay.”

“And I know I was supposed to tell my family, I already got texts from Lucy and Ilsa so I know you began telling… I’ve phoned my parents, they’re happy, and I texted Vanessa too. And I’m going to make it up to you tonight, okay? So I called Ilsa, and we’re having dinner at her house tonight, early though because it’s Monday and Ilsa has to go to Court tomorrow morning. And Greg’s in Wales for work, so Lucy is leaving the boys with friends and is coming, I know you like her better alone. And Max. And we’re going to open the champagne and celebrate properly,” she rambled quickly. “I’m very sorry, Cormoran.”

Strike sighed.

“D’you think I’m mad about a bloody dinner? I don’t need an engagement celebration Robin, that’s not my thing. I did it for you, because Max offered and _you_ seemed excited about it, but if you’re going to feel it’s something you’re being pressured into then what’s the point? Because I’m about as dying for it, with the anxiety I have with the office.”

“I know, look I am happy about it, I do want to do it, I appreciate you’ll do it for me and I think we should, even if it’s just to forget about our worries and focus on the best thing happening to us right now for a couple hours.”

“Fine,” said Strike. “Look, Robin, just promise me you’re actually going to have interest in this wedding because I know you didn’t in the other one and I know that was because it was Matthew, but first day and you’ve already neglected us _and_ office hunting…”

“I do have interest Cormoran I swear, I care. This wedding is going to be perfect and I won’t neglect things again. But I was with our cases, trying to do some work…”

“We agreed there was no point without an office.”

“I know but—,”

“Listen if you becoming a ghost is the price to know the truth about Rokeby then honestly? I’d rather we forget about him. Talk to you later, I’ve got to go.”

“Okay, bye… I love you Cormoran.”

He sighed softly.

“I love you too.”

Three hours later Strike was ready to throw his laptop into the wall in frustration, not managing any office. His heart drumming with anxiety, he forced himself to have a break for lunch, even when he wasn’t hungry. He was on his own, since Max was gone for work and Robin probably was still office hunting outside, so he cooked for himself, ate, took Wolfgang on a little walk around the block, and when he returned he had a text from Robin.

‘No luck with the offices, too tiny, no bathroom, Wifi’s SHIT. Checked a few more but they’re unaffordable. I’ll try my luck a bit more and go straight to Wandsworth from here, got the Land Rover. BTW no etiquette for tonight, you can dress normal. Love you xx’.

‘Got it. Good luck, I’m not seeing anything in the computer. Can’t wait to see you, love you xxxxx’.

Strike had gotten to the point when his longing for her was bigger than his resentment, so he texted her back and dragged himself back to searching.

At last, Strike found himself waking up, having succumbed to exhaustion with his head on the table next to his laptop, the battery running out while he slept. He heard noise down the stairs.

“Robin?” he checked his watch, realizing he had to get going if he wanted to make it on time.

“It’s me,” Max’s voice came. “Just getting my shoes on! You coming?”

“Yeah, let’s get my car.”

While Strike drove them to Octavia Road, he checked his phone. An hour before, Robin had texted mysteriously that Al had called and she had had to go meet him ‘real quick’ but she’d be at the dinner ‘ASAP’, so Strike tried to be patient and understanding and simply sent a kiss emoji back.  He’d been much worse with other women many times, he had to be kind.

“If it isn’t two of my favourite men!” Ilsa welcomed them into the house, grinning and round with her four month belly. Strike kissed her cheek and Max waved the champagne.

“Looking beautiful Ilsa,” Strike told her, and walked into the house.

“Hello Mr Engaged!” Lucy couldn’t hide her excitement as she got up from the sofa and hugged him tightly. “I’m so happy and proud! If Robin hadn’t sent a photograph, I wouldn’t have believed it”

“You’re still not going to be an auntie of humans, although a pet is being discussed,” said Strike with a chuckle, and Lucy rolled eyes while Nick, standing at the kitchen, handed him a beer, laughing.

T hey sat when Vanessa and Oliver arrived, bringing the food to the large dinning table that would soon be filled on a daily basis when the little Herbert twins arrived. Doing small talk, Strike received a text from Robin saying she was nearly there and not to wait, so they began eating and talking, catching up because they didn’t see each other that much often.

At last, the doorbell rang and Strike got up and walked the long, narrow corridor to open, giving Robin a stern look as she appeared, breathless.

“Tell me you’re shagging Al so I can understand why you’re hanging out with him so much lately and yet arriving late every single time to _our_ things. You’ve never been late so often before,” Strike quickly spoke under his breath, letting her inside, “even _I_ ’ve been making an effort to be better, and now you’re going to slack?” It was obvious he was only joking about the shagging, but the rest looked serious.

“I’ll have you know what I’ve been doing is super important, the utmost important, and one day when I can tell you all about it you’re going to be extremely thankful,” whispered Robin, taking off her coat, that was damp from the rain that had begun an hour before. “Cormoran, I’m sorry but you trust me, I trust you, you know I love _you_ more than anything, I need you to trust blindly that there’s a big reason for me to do this now, and you will know when the timing’s right.” She said grabbing his jumper gently.

Strike sighed but nodded, agreeing.

“I’m sorry, I’m just so anxious with the office and it makes me miss you more I suppose. I just miss you.”

“I’m here now,” she kissed him lovingly. “And I’ve been looking many offices today, and I think we could ask Max if he’d mind giving Pat a copy of our house keys so we can set a computer in the sitting room or something and she can work, because we’re not going to have an office for at least another week, I don’t think.”

“Just come inside, we’ll discuss that later.”

W hen Robin joined the group for dinner, they toasted for the engagement and for a while, conversation was monopolized by the necessary catching up, wedding-gushing, and proposal story. 

“You guys should open an account for wedding donations, instead of getting presents,” Lucy suggested during dessert. “Weddings come expensive and you’re up to your neck with the office chaos.”

“No, we will pay the wedding off our own pockets, I’m not going to have anyone pay anything,” argued Strike. “Robin’s parents haven’t stopped paying things, ten grand for her first flat with Matthew, then another load for the wedding, five hundred pounds in wedding heels… but now we’re business owners, we will find a way to afford it. Once the agency’s arse is saved it shouldn’t be so difficult anyway. We make decent money now, and we wanted a small wedding anyway.”

“Yeah, in London, no honeymoon for now. We’ll give ourselves a nice holiday when it’s convenient,” added Robin, leaning back on her chair with a satisfied sigh. “We just need a solution for the office as in yesterday. I can’t believe we ran out of time already, I honestly thought by now… And I remembered today Ms Jones, a former client who wanted to shag Cormoran,” that elicited some giggles, but she smiled and went on, “she had a real estate agency, so I phoned her, and when she heard poor Cormoran had lost his flat she was all about it, told me she’ll dig, but that what we asking for is hard to find. That prices have just gone up a lot.”

“I think you guys are going to have to assume you’re not going to get what you want and check for the next best option,” said Oliver. “At least prepare a plan B, because how long can you be without an office?”

“Not long,” meditated Strike, scratching his beard. “We need to see clients, stack files, and Pat needs space to work and to store information… not to mention the meetings.”

“Well I think if you’re going to be a married couple, that’s serious business, you need a life upgrade. Can’t be so many years into a business and now you’re worse. Can’t be,” Oliver reasoned.

Strike nodded in agreement. He was sick and tired of the lack of improvements in their lives.

  
  



	14. Lucky

**Chapter 14: Lucky.**

Over the next week, the entire team that composed Strike Agency spent nearly every minute of their waking hours trying to find an office, to no avail. They were beginning to give up and accept perhaps it was time to think of something else, and so Strike and Robin went to bed, at the end of the week, feeling crestfallen and rock bottom. They’d fallen asleep discussing the situation and possible alternatives, and the hours passed in silence until, in the wee hours of the morning, Strike’s phone rang and rouse them both from sleep. Strike rubbed the sleep off his face with one large hand and reached to grab his phone from the bedside cabinet while Robin groaned and tried to bury herself in his back to escape the noise.

But after a couple minutes, Strike patted her cheek until she woke up completely. Jonny Rokeby had died in his sleep, over night. His in-home nurse had gone to check on him and had found him cold and dead. The news fell on Robin like a jar of cold water. Rokeby was, secretly, their last hope at finding a proper office and without him, they were lost.

Al had begged Strike to come over, so they got in the car  and Strike drove them to the same house near Oxford they’d already driven to one time each. He was tired and conflicted. He felt saddened in one side, but in another, he was relieved he’d never have to deal with his biological father again.

“We’re so sorry, Al,” Robin murmured, hugging Al, who was absolutely a mess, as they entered the house. The sun hadn’t come yet and all the siblings were slowly crowding the sitting room.

“He’s not in pain any more,” Strike hugged him too. “He’s at rest now.”

“Thanks bruv,” Al sobbed out, tapping his eyes with a tissue. His mother, Jenny, and his younger brother Ed were, along with Al, doubtless the most affected and tearful, while the other siblings were mostly collected.

They waited until a black car came to pick Rokeby’s body up and take it away, and then the Rokeby’s newest lawyer, the family friend, called them to the office to read the last will and testament. Before they went in however, Al took Robin’s elbow and dragged her aside, passing her a large envelope when nobody was looking, which she quickly stuffed inside her purse, closing it with the zip.

“Al, what…?”

“Dad said it was very important that you got that, he told me yesterday. Said nobody else could know.”

“Okay,” Robin nodded, and rejoined Strike to follow everyone into the office.

Strike and Robin didn’t really think they’d even be mentioned in the will, but they were trying to decide when was the best time to leave and go back to sleep without offending Al, so they sat, accepted the offerings of whiskey, and did their best not to fall asleep during the long read and examination of Jonny’s Rokeby last will and testament. One by one, siblings accepted properties, generous sums of money, and sometimes more tears were shed, and at last, when Strike was close to succumbing to sleep, his name was called.

“...finally, to my firstborn son, Mr Cormoran Blue Strike, born on November 23rd 1974 from my relationship with then Ms Leda Strike,” said the lawyer, a middle-aged man reading through half-mooned glasses. Strike’s head shot up.

“Sorry, you mentioned me?” he asked confused. “Why would he leave _me…_?”

“Because he loved you,” replied Prudence Donleavy, the fifth of the siblings, five years younger than Strike, who had been a reason for Rokeby’s second wife, Carla Astolfi, to divorce from him, just like Strike had caused the divorce from the first wife, Shirley Mullens. The order in which the siblings’ inheritances had been divided had been strictly by birth and legitimacy order. First Maimie Rokeby, three years older than Strike and who was here with her husband. Then Strike had been skipped and instead it had been Gabriella and Daniella Rokeby, who were two and four years younger than Strike respectively. Then Pru had been skipped and the list had continued with Al, nine years younger than Strike, and Edward, eleven years younger. Then it had been the turn for the ‘bastard’ children, and when Maimie, the youngest of the two, had been mentioned first, Strike hadn’t thought he’d be mentioned second, not that he ever even thought he’d be mentioned at all.

“Pru’s right,” Al nodded. “Go ahead, Mr Fern, what did our father leave Corm? Better be good, after all he’s nagged you,” he added with a warm smile towards Strike, through the tears.

“Well, to Mr Strike and, he writes, Mr Strike’s fiancée Ms Robin Ellacott, is she present?”

“It’s me,” Robin said quietly, surprised, and she blushed as everyone turned to look at her.

“Doesn’t surprise me. Dad already loved you, he spoke so warmly of you,” Al smiled tearfully at her, nodding. Strike and Robin exchanged a shocked look. _They_ were surprised.

“To you both Mr Rokeby leaves a two-bedroom attic flat in the fourth floor of Nº1 Vauxhall Street, Borough of Vauxhall, South London, which Mr Rokeby bought most recently, last Monday. It’s hereby written that the total value of the property is low enough to be exempt of inheritance taxes, so you can just have the papers right here, and there are instructions on how to proceed to sign the change of ownership,” Mr Fern, the lawyer, dug in a stack of folders and pulled out one that read ‘1 VAUXHALL STREET’ in capital letters, which he handed to Strike. “All its mortgage has been paid too, Mr Strike, so the only cost will be the utility taxes every month.”

“We can’t accept this, we don’t have money to pay the utilities in Vauxhall…” Strike murmured, opening the folder with a hammering heart. But the estimated numbers, already calculated in the documents he’d been given, were affordable.

“We _can_ ,” Robin corrected him, looking over his shoulder. “And we should. Cormoran, we’re not in a situation to refuse such generous presents with the problems we have.” She murmured. “We can set the office there.”

“You’re right,” Strike agreed in resignation, and nodded to the lawyer. Robin breathed out in relief. At last Rokeby had done a good thing, and smartly enough to make sure not to leave them with an unaffordable inheritance tax and mortgage. It wasn’t the ideal area, but she’d take it.

“That would be all for you, Mr Strike,” said Mr Fern. “And if nobody has questions or anything to add, we’re finished. We’ll meet at the public notary in three days time to sign all the official documents necessary to make the inheritances officially effective, but you’ll have time to study what you got and decide if you want to accept or pass. I’ll email you all.”

Strike and Robin were still in shock when, after many farewells, they entered the BMW and this time Robin drove them back to Earl’s Court.

“How did this happen?” Strike asked after a while, as the sun was coming up. “How? Did you ask him to…?”

“Look, Rokeby asked me if there was anything you needed. Anything. We weren’t engaged then, I was only thinking of what was best for you, the problems you had, the anxiety attack that left a hole in a wall. So I told him that you’d never accept his money,” said Robin, calmly driving. “I told him if he wanted for you to know he genuinely cared about you, he had to do truly disinterested, generous acts of kindness, not try to buy your love. And then I told him we were very stressed because you’d been evicted, and with you, also our agency, and that we were desperately looking for something but finding an agency and a new home in such little time was proving really difficult, so you and I were sharing a room in a friend’s house, which is the truth. And I told him if he could come up with some way to help us out… I said that’s the type of thing my parents do for me and my siblings, help us with a home, things like that, seemed like the fatherly thing to do. But I was adamant he had to be smart and not cause more trouble, nor put it like bribery. Look, he knew we had a necessity, he knew you had lost your home, and so… he found a humble flat for you, exempt of the fattest taxes, and left it for you to go on with your life. I’m not going to complain and neither should do, this is a gift from heaven, literally. He genuinely cared about you Cormoran, I could see it in his eyes. And you’ve seen the photograph in that folder! It’s a humble thing, not some extravagant state you can’t accept.”

“I’m only accepting because we’re getting married, and we’re facing a lot of trouble and this is the answer we’d been craving,” said Strike with a sullen expression. “But I’m not happy. Relieved, but not happy.”

“Jonny’s dead, I’m not happy either. Relieved though, that’s a good word.”

“Why would his death affect your happiness?” asked Strike, confused.

“One, he’s my fiancé’s biological father, he was trying to make amends, it saddens me that his time was cut too short to do that. Two, Al was heartbroken and I like Al, so I’m sad in empathy towards him. And three…” Robin let out a deep sigh. “I gave Rokeby my word I’d do all I could to figure out some stuff before he died. I thought he had months. I thought there was more time. But there wasn’t, and I failed.”

“Robin…” Strike looked at her thoughtfully, and touched her thigh gently as she drove closer to London. “What are you hiding from me?”

Robin smiled bittersweet and shrugged, eyes on the road.

“There’s a reason Gillespie’s no longer the Rokeby’s lawyer, and it’s not because he retired, that’s what Jonny wanted everyone to believe, so nobody would have to know the stupid mistake he made. He told me, only me, in confidence, trusting that I’d tell you all the truth when I figured it out, because he only had the time and health to scratch the surface. His cancer was diagnosed less than two years ago,” Robin explained. “He then went to put his things in order, because he’d been told he didn’t have three years. That he’d die, that it was too advanced. And while putting his things in order, for the first time he had to quit all drugs and alcohol, to buy himself more time, so he was at last completely sober and began to think and see more clearly, and then he realized there were odd things in his numbers, in the papers. Documents Gillespie said he’d consulted with Rokeby but that Rokeby didn’t think he’d ever sign, that he couldn’t remember, expenditures that weren’t justified. He got someone to take a look, and when he found out there was enough evidence to demonstrate Gillespie had been taking money and, well, committing fraud, embezzlement… but not enough to take him to court. But Rokeby made him think either he left or he had enough to take him to court and ruin his life, and the only reason why he’d rather have Gillespie leave himself was because he pretended he still felt fondness of Gillespie. So Gillespie retired, but it was forced. I told Rokeby I’d get to the bottom of it.”

“Why would you? That has nothing to do with you Robin, we have enough on our shoulders as it is!”

“Because Gillespie was in charge of every expense related to you, Cormoran! Because Rokeby made a rookie mistake, and when he was young and high all the time signed full powers for him to do whatever with his money if he said it was related to you, and the only person supervising Gillespie was an accountant who in a sea of millions wouldn’t have noticed if ten thousand grand went missing! So I said I’d look into it, I said… because Rokeby… he insisted he sent you birthday cards, Cormoran. That every year he remembered your birthday, that Gillespie was trusted with trying to establish communication with you, and when Al told him Gillespie had been so shitty with you with the agency loan, and then saw his fraud… Rokeby realized that if he’d done that much behind his back, he hadn’t tried to establish a relationship with you either, that he’d been sabotaging his attempts at being your father,” Strike’s eyes widened. “So I promised Rokeby I would look into it, because I love you, Cormoran, and if there’s a chance that I can prove your biological father actually regretted the crap he did to you and tried to fix it, yes, clumsily and stupidly but stilll… then you should know, shouldn’t you? That’s why I’ve been so absent sometimes. I didn’t want to tell you anything until I had more reasons to believe him, in case it all turned out to be a lie.”

“Jesus Christ, Robin, fuck…” Strike shook his head in disbelief. “So you’re telling me now because you have more evidence?”

“Not enough but…” Robin nodded. “I’m 70% positive Rokeby was right and honest. Problem is I can’t bring Gillespie to justice for the money, I consulted with our accountant and with a lawyer friend of Ilsa who does those things, there isn’t enough to stand in court firmly with the quality of lawyers Gillespie can bring with the millions he’s gotten through Rokeby, half-stolen. So I’m focusing on proving Gillespie sabotaged your relationship with Rokeby, and… I’ve found stuff I can’t tell you, because I _could_ potentially bring Gillespie to court for major stuff… stuff related to your family. But it’ll only stand in court if you as the main affected party are not involved with the investigation, do you understand?” Robin looked at him briefly before turning her attention to the road. “I can only succeed if I can show up in court as a more objective investigator independent to the family, without the court knowing I’m your fiancée, without being your wife yet because I can hide an engagement but not that, and without you sticking your nose in it. And if I tell you more, you won’t be able to keep yourself from sticking your nose, because I know you.”

“Robin, this sounds like you’re going to get into deep trouble and dangerous territory alone, I can’t have you do that for me…”

“I’m not alone. There’s Al, there’s Shanker, there’s a colleague of Ilsa’s because one she’s too close to you and Gillespie’s defence could figure that out easily and claim she’s biased, but also she might be giving birth by the time court comes, and there’s also Michelle Greenstreet, I picked her because she’s our newest employee and Gillespie’s defence won’t be able to say her opinion is biased. They’ll try to say mine is, if they figure out we’re dating or engaged, or just because we’re colleagues, but if you don’t know anything, it’ll be easier to defend the objectiveness of the investigation. So please Cormoran, please… just don’t make questions. Don’t dig. Just trust me, okay?”

“Blind trust.”

“Yes.”

“Just one question more and I’ll pretend I never heard anything.”

“Cormoran…”

“One!”

Robin puffed, but nodded.

“One question.”

“Is this related to my mother’s death, that’s why you’re so serious?” Robin clenched her jaw and took a deep breath, eyes fixed on the road.

“If you want justice for her this is our last chance, Cormoran, that’s all you ought to know. So trust your friends have this, trust I will do _everything_ and fight as hard as you, but don’t inquire more.”

Strike looked at her in deep shock and then nodded slowly. When her hand came down to grip the gear stick, he moved one to cover hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I trust you wholeheartedly. Just promise me at the smallest sign of deep trouble… you’ll steer clear, okay? I can’t get her back, but I can still lose you, and I can’t live without you, Robin. A justice attempt is not worth your life.”

“If I steered clear every time it smells like trouble, we wouldn’t have jobs any more, love. But I swear at the smallest sign of trouble, I’ll get the right army, okay? Perhaps I’ll call Hardy. And Vanessa’s there too.”

“Okay,” Strike nodded. “Just be careful. You’re my everything, okay?”

“Okay.”

T hey arrived at Earl’s Court a long time later, traffic delaying them, and went straight to bed. It was a weekend, so they had no rush to get up early, specially now that they saw their office problem resolved, so they slept in, woke up for brunch and, once they were rested and with full stomachs, Robin showed Strike the envelope Al had given her the night before. It was large and heavy, so they sat on the sofa together to go through it. It contained three smaller envelopes, each of them with a different thing scribbled on it ‘1. Leg’, ‘2. Office’, ‘3. Wedding’.  However they were surprised to discover they all had large sums of  fifty pound banknotes, which should accumulate several thousands of pounds in each envelope. Confused, they turned to the letter that came along, handwritten by Jonny Rokeby himself.

‘ _Dear Cormoran & Robin,_

_Lately I’ve begun to think I might be running short of time, and I don’t think I will have time to wrap these up for the Will, I also think they might be too urgent for you to wait for the Will, so please let me hand you my final three presents._

_Cormoran, getting to know a bit of you over drinks has been by far one of the top five moments of my life, and I want to thank you for giving me that chance. I have learned you’re made of the same generosity, selfness and kindness of your mother, and that you are definitely a man I’m proud to be guilty of contributing to make. You are by far the best accident I ever committed to, and I am proud, so proud, to be your father. I am also painfully aware of all the pain and disappointment I have caused you, and I want to apologize one last time. I don’t want to make excuses, but I was a young, stupid addict and I didn’t know then what I know now without a shade of a doubt; that leaving you behind was my worst mistake, and that I would happily give away my every penny to buy more time to spend with you, sharing laughter, drinks, and listening to music together. Thank you for gifting me a day with you, even when I didn’t deserve it, I love you all the more for that. I hope you remember me as the man whose biggest regret was not becoming your Dad, and that you get to feel lucky for being so loved by two fathers and two mothers. You have become the man I wish I’d died being, and I wish you a lifetime of well-deserved joy and happiness, and my best hopes that you continue to solve the biggest mysteries of the world and have fun doing it. I know little things matter more than devoting to a job you feel truly passionate about, and I am happy you get to discover that first hand. Finally, I want to tell you that my greatest honour was to father eight wonderful children, specially you, not for being a decorated soldier, but because you’re the person of this family with the most integrity, morals, and generosity, and those are things that I wish I’d known sooner matter more than anything. I know you’d be a great father too, and that you will make a phenomenal husband. By the way, I am so happy to hear it worked out for you and Robin; my most sincere congratulations, don’t ever let her go like I let your mother go. I didn’t realize then, but I swear… she was my one first love, and I hope wherever I go, she’s there and I get to tell her how much I wish I had stayed with you two, been a proper Dad, and her husband. Please take care of Al for me, will you? He worships you. I’m so proud of you, and I love you._

_Robin, no words would be enough to express how much this family owes you, how thankful we forever are for you, and how deeply I appreciate you. It doesn’t surprise me that Cormoran is so in love with you; you are an extraordinary human being and you deserve all the good things in this world. Thank you for loving him, for standing by him, and for having such a strong sense of right and wrong. Don’t ever change. It pains me not to have gotten to know you better as a person, to know your likes and dislikes, to have fun times with you as a step-daughter-in-law and to be your London Dad, but I hope you know that I already love you. What you have done can only be explained because you are a true angel. Thank you._

_My dearest son, when you visited me I was worried to see you’re limping so heavily. I consulted with a good old friend of mine, Dr Ritchie Lucas, director of Parkside Private Hospital in South London, and he explained to me NHS prosthesis aren’t too good for a man who leads a life as active as you, and that if you have changed weight in these eight years, it could also have stopped fitting you right. I know you already know all of this, and that if you’re standing the pain is likely because the fancier prosthesis are very expensive. I know you don’t like my money, but Cormoran, what am I going to do with it from the grave? You’d make me very happy if you accepted your father’s help and acquired a leg that let you live a fuller life, and be even better at your work, able to run after suspects with minimal discomfort. Dr Lucas’s number is below, and I already paid him half the money, the other half is in the envelope Nº1, you book a consultation with him, get fit for some nicer leg, and give him the rest of the money. He told me of some options that I think will make you happy. Please accept it; I bought Al a tailored Italian suit when he turned 18, and we did the same, I paid half in advance and the other half when Al’s suit was delivered. Consider this a long-delayed 18_ _th_ _birthday present._ ’

“Did my father just compare a prosthesis with a suit?” Strike murmured with incredulity and a small smile, and Robin grinned, not missing that he’d called him father.

‘ _Secondly, Robin, I took care of the office thing. My dear friend Pippa Darnel (contact details below) recently retired from a business of photography, and I remembered she had this small but really decent office in Baker Street, so I called her to see if she’d sold it yet. We agreed on a sum, and I paid half already, the other is in the envelope Nº2. You go, and if you like it, you buy it, and if you don’t, you can use the money in the envelope to contribute for another agency. I know how you all feel about the money, but once again… there’s pride and then there’s stupidity. You have five employees at your charge. Business advice; always accept any help that’s offered to you, and one day you’ll be able to give back. To me, I’ll be happy if you give back with catching more criminals and returning more missing mothers home._

_ Finally, I asked Al what would be an appropriate wedding present, but it’s been a long while since any of us last went to a wedding, and it’s my first time as the groom’s father. My wife told me the father of the groom is supposed to pay part of the ceremony, but you guys can’t even know what you’re going to go for just yet, and how much it’ll cost.  And I don’t think Ted should be footing the bill; he probably also helped your sister with her wedding, right? And I’m the neglectful father, I should be stepping in, plus my money is better in your hands than, no offence, in my less responsible children.  So I decided to put ten thousand grand in an envelope,  and it should at least pay venue and suits, right? Get yourself a nice groom’s suit, it’s important to dress properly for your lady, and if you don’t spend it all, you can save up for your life together. I hope this way I get to be a small part of the happiest day of your life, and for once create some happiness instead of pain. I’m sorry I won’t get to see you walk down the aisle. Perhaps you wouldn’t have invited me anyway, but I still looked forward to Al’s story about it. Anyway, be happy, you two. Nobody deserves it more. _

_ I’ll tell Leda all about you two when I see her. Can’t wait to see how happy she’s going to be  when I tell her we made a truly good thing, who became better than the two of us combined. Best thing we ever did. _

_All my love,_

_ Dad. Sort of. _ ’

When they finished reading, Robin’s eyes were full of tears and as she looked at Strike, she saw pure shock and confusion, like somebody had punched him out of the blue.  A fat tear fell on Robin’s hand and she rubbed her eyes impatiently, got up and rushed to her room, digging in her closet for the golden envelope Rokeby had long given her with Strike’s 40 th birthday card, and which she had kept saved for weeks, in secret. She ran back to Strike and found tears in his eyes when he looked up to her. Robin sniffled, holding the envelope.

“When I saw Rokeby,” said Robin, and sniffled, keeping herself together, “he gave me this for you. He said he had wanted to give it to you when he went to the office, but you broke his nose, and he figured it was too late for peace offerings. But he said once he figured out Gillespie hadn’t given you all the birthday cards he sent for years, he decided he could try again the next year, which was last one, and, well, he never forgot your birthday really. He wanted you to know he remembered it, that he thought of you, that he cared. I didn’t give it to you sooner because I needed to make sure it wasn’t some stunt again, didn’t want him to hurt you with another lie, I had to know he was telling the truth…” she extended the envelope to him. “Now, I know.”

W ordlessly, Strike took it and opened the envelope, taking out, at last, the birthday card he’d been waiting for, for forty years. He didn’t understand why, but as he read it, the reality of things hit him, and he broke down in tears. Sobbing, he looked up at Robin, who knelt on the carpeted floor in front of him, caressing his hair softly.

“I got it all wrong, didn’t I? I blamed him… and it was all that Gillespie, wasn’t it?”

“Well, Rokeby was a dickhead, and he committed huge, unforgettable mistakes, he did a ton of things he shouldn’t have done, trusted the wrong people… but didn’t Leda do that too?” Robin shrugged. “I think at the end of the day, love, you’re the son of two very clumsy people, who in a haze of drugs and alcohol fucked you up, but that loved you for real. And that if they could go back and do things better, they would’ve. But they were kids, Cormoran… they had no fucking idea what they were doing, and you paid the price. Leda trusted Whittaker, Jonny trusted Gillespie, worst decisions they ever made. I’m so, so sorry.”

Strike sobbed and nodded, rubbing his face with his large hand, the other holding the card firmly.

“You’ll find out the truth, will you? So I can… so I can break Gillespie’s nose?”

Robin snorted a laugh, rubbed another set of tears off her cheeks, and nodded, kissing his forehead.

“I promise you, I’m going to do everything to bring justice to you. Everything.”

He opened his arms and legs to hug her, and she held him tight, letting him cry out all the frustration, the anger and the sadness, for Leda, for Jonny, and for the little boy who grew up thinking he was nothing but a fucking accident.

  
  



	15. Digging

**Chapter 15: Digging.**

Because of the heavy snows that suddenly hit London, Jonny Rokeby’s funeral delayed two weeks. The procession was composed by dozens of dark figures with dark umbrellas bracing against the snowfall, photographers hidden between the tombs and the bushes in the freezing cold, and dark men in suits carrying the luxurious coffin to its final resting place at the Rokeby’s crypt. Strike and Robin had sat stoic through the entire Church service and they walked at the tail of the procession, faces semi hidden in their scarves, and watched the burial from the distance. They only came closer to leave flowers and give their last condolences to the grieving family before returning to Strike’s car.

They drove in silence to their new office in Baker Street, which they’d just opened the previous Monday, after the fastest property buy and furnishing in history.  The new offices had two inner offices, one of which they used as a workroom with a couple computers and many cork boards and filing cabinets for all of their subcontractors to use if they needed it to resolve their own cases, with Strike and Robin’s supervision, while the senior detectives had two desks in the other office to share it. Pat had a bigger working area in the bigger reception, with a sofa that was comfortable and didn’t make strange sounds, and there was a toilet just for them, and a small kitchen with a large table around which they sat for meetings. The building also came with a cellar, a receptionist for the entire building, security and a working lift, so it was definitely an upgrade, and with Rokeby having paid most things, they were left only with utility bills that, now that they didn’t pay two apartment rentals, were affordable.

In the workroom, where Strike wasn’t constantly lurking, Robin spent entire days, whenever she wasn’t busy with agency’s cases, and sometimes even nights, putting together the Rokeby investigation. She had had news from Shanker and Vanessa, both of whom she’d called for help, and she’d met Shirley Mullens and Carla Astolfi on the day they’d had dinner at the Herberts. She’d interviewed  dozens of people, including  three different accountants, a lawyer specialized on fraud and embezzlement, another specialized in family rights, three old friends of Jonny Rokeby, tracked down every squatter Leda and Whittaker lived with who still lived and interviewed them, and even managed to get Sir Randolph Whittaker to agree to interview him as long as she didn’t make a single question about Switch or about himself and his wife, but she could ask about Jeff Whittaker all she wanted.  Robin knew she was worrying family and friends, obsessing, losing sleep and forfeiting meals, but the photograph Rokeby had given Strike of he and Leda laughing was framed on his desk, haunting her, and she couldn’t think of nothing else, already making tremendous effort to focus on other cases and personal life when it was absolutely necessary, specially now that her brother Jonathan was living in their new flat’s second bedroom.

A  knock on the door went unheard, and then Michelle Greenstreet came into the room.

“Robin?”

Robin turned to her, deep bags under her eyes, that moved from the information accumulated and spread on two large cork boards to her newest subcontractor and one of her aids in the investigation. Michelle was tall, of average weight, descendant from African slaves, and had smooth dark skin, a mane of dark curls normally pulled into a high ponytail or in a tight bun, almond-shaped honey eyes, and a hard-working attitude sustained by a load of integrity and a passion for the job that made her an ideal employee from the very beginning. Now, Michelle held a mug of tea she brought Robin.

“Thank you.”

“Everybody’s left, and no offence, but you look unhealthily pale and slim. Cormoran misses you.”

“Leda Strike would be sixty-four today,” said Robin softly, looking back at the board. “Switch Whittaker turned twenty-two last December, he’s never met his maternal family. Jack Everton will turn thirteen in April, he’ll never know his grandmother, to whom he’s nearly identical. Cormoran… he’ll get married in a year without his biological parents, having spent nearly his whole life thinking his own father didn’t want him. Every extra day I spend on this is one more day they’re suffering. One more day they live without the truth.”

“I know, but… perhaps you’ll think clearer if we have a break in the pub? Come back, look at this with new eyes. We have every piece of the puzzle, we just need to put it together, the answer’s there.”

“I think I already have,” said Robin slowly.

Michelle’s eyes widened, and she came closer to her.

“You have?” Robin nodded, eyes fixed on the board, and then suddenly snapped out of it and looked at Michelle.

“I need to run it by you to make sure it does make sense and it’s not all in my head.”

“Sure,” Michelle sat on the closest desk.

“Okay, so let’s start by the very beginning…” Robin walks around, looking at the board. “1973, Jonny Rokeby meets Leda Strike after one of his concerts, the two hit it off and begin an affair. If we trust the witnesses and friends of Rokeby we found from those days, he was whipped and truly in love, but pretended not to be because he was married and he hated looking vulnerable, he went around saying Jonny Rokeby doesn’t drool after anyone. June 1974, Shirley Mullens finds out the child Leda’s expecting is Jonny’s and leaves him, so Jonny breaks up the affair with Leda and leaves London for the States.”

“Right.”

“Then in the period of time between that and November, we have several friends of Jonny who assure he was still in love with Leda, but Shirley was threatening with forbidding him from visiting their daughter Maimie, so he moved on and began dating Carla Astolfi. Shirley also confirmed this. And then in November 23rd, Cormoran was born,” explains Robin as she paced around the room, collecting her thoughts. “Then for nine years, nothing. Jonny moves on with his life, Carla Astolfi said in the beginning he seemed to still be thinking of Leda but that then he moved on, Rokeby’s friends corroborate this, and Leda was with other men, had Lucy, travelled across the country… And then in July 1983 Al Rokeby’s born. According to Rokeby, by the time November came he had decided to write Cormoran a birthday card, which his wife Jenny Graham confirmed, she said she saw him do it and corroborated what Rokeby said; that Peter Gillespie, who for years had been tasked with all Cormoran related things, would personally deliver it by hand. And both Jenny Graham and Alexander Rokeby confirmed that if he didn’t do it personally, it was likely he had used his assistant Ronan O’Brian.”

“Who when your friends DI Wardle and DI Ekwensi went to talk to him, insisted it was true he had been tasked with getting rid of that and many other birthday cards that Gillespie had given him addressed to Corm,” Michelle pointed out, and Robin nodded. “And some of the squatters that lived in Leda’s same building in the nineties, plus Corm and his sister Lucy, said they’d never seen either O’Brian or Gillespie, which proves they were never there. Corm said he’s only seen Gillespie when he’s gone to meet with Rokeby.”

“That’s right,” said Robin nodding. “So on one side, we have enough for Cormoran to know he had a father that cared for him and tried to stablish a contact that was repeatedly sabotaged by Gillespie.”

“We do.”

“And now the part that’s going to take us to court…” Robin took a deep breath, stopped pacing, and crossed her arms over her chest, staring at the cork. “How Peter Gillespie hired Jeff Whittaker to murder Leda Strike, and how they’ve hid it for twenty years.”

Michelle released a deep breath and stood by her side, looking at the notes all over their corks.

“First off, Sir Randolph Whittaker gave us the school pictures in which you can see Peter Gillespie’s little brother Anthony and Jeff Whittaker attended the same Gordonstoun’s class, with Peter twenty years their senior, and we have statements from four different teachers who all agree Anthony and Whittaker used to play together and were friends. Randolph said both Gillespie brothers befriended Jeff, partially because of his own former friendship with Gillespie Senior, who’s long since passed away, so the two families used to hang out a lot. Anthony Gillespie and Jeff Whittaker then, according to some former gangsters of the time that your friend Shanker found, used to do drugs together and began their criminal careers together. And then Anthony died from an overdose in 1991.” Said Michelle.

“And not just that, but Randolph told us the boom about how Jeff Whittaker is actually a Gillespie. As he found out in 1985 at the age of sixteen, his father is none other than Peter Gillespie, who had had an affair with his mother while the two families were friends. Affair that was kept hidden until Anthony Gillespie heard around his house about his brother having had a child with ‘some girl’, both of whom had supposedly died at birth, and on a hunch gave Jeff a hair to do a DNA test and find out if Jeff was indeed his nephew,” added Robin. “Which prompted Jeff to tell Randolph, who demanded the Gillespies explanations and that’s how the two families fell out, when the Gillespies refused to admit it, but Randolph still had the DNA test results, which he gave us.”

“That’s right,” Michelle nodded, pointing to the document on the cork. “So Whittaker finds out his father, to whom he’s furious because he abandoned his drug addict mother, abandoned him and his mother, and is the same guy he thought of as his best friend’s brother and a friend by extension and in the fit of fury, he begins a criminal life which causes Randolph to permanently kick him out of the house. And then we don’t know what happened between Gillespie and Whittaker from 1985 to 1991, when, because Gillespie Senior was a powerful businessman married to a model, a press photograph of Anthony Gillespie’s funeral shows a young Whittaker in the back, talking with Peter. Three months before Whittaker met Leda.”

“We know Whittaker was having poor luck with jobs, and we know meanwhile Gillespie was already working for Rokeby and we have different accountants and a specialized lawyer who all agree the amounts Gillespie got Rokeby to pay him were inflated, so we can imagine Whittaker was threatening with telling the press about Gillespie impregnating an underage girl and sinking his reputation if he didn’t regularly give him some money,” commented Robin. “Which came out of the inflated quantities, because Ronan O’Brian said he was also tasked with giving Whittaker five hundred pounds, in cash, monthly from 1985 to 1995. _And_ again the gangsters we could talk with confirmed Whittaker used to brag that ‘daddy’ is paying, which he said always with sarcasm, confusing them, but which makes sense now.”

“Then there’s Ronan O’Brian, who claims in 1991, he was tasked by Gillespie with finding out where Leda worked, and figuring out a way Whittaker could meet her,” said Michelle. “So Gillespie wanted them to strike out a romance.”

“Never said better,” Robin nodded. “O’Brian’s a key piece. He also said he was told to tell Whittaker if he married Leda he’d have access to Rokeby’s fortune, just like Gillespie had it. But we know Gillespie secretly knew Leda had no fortune from Whittaker, because he tied it up himself. And then in 1994, Gillespie must’ve gotten sick of paying Whittaker for maintenance, plus having to fear Cormoran would sink Rokeby with the press and his career would sink with Rokeby’s, and decided if he got Whittaker to kill Cormoran and Leda, then be caught for it, all his problems would be gone at once.”

“Which is when O’Brian said he didn’t know that was the plan but knew he was told by Gillespie to offer Whittaker five thousand to do what a Gillespie requested in a closed envelope, plus an extra annual payment afterwards for his silence, besides O’Brian said Gillespie gave him a ton of heroin from Rokeby’s personal drugs to give to Whittaker, which is the drug that killed Leda,” continued Michelle, “and then Wardle and Ekwensi got some of the people that then worked with Whittaker in the drugs and that Shanker found, to admit that Whittaker ordered them to grab Corm the second he came back home for Leda’s death, and inject him with heroin, but they said they failed because Cormoran never returned to Whitechapel, and the chance to get rid of him disappeared. Your police friends made a good deal with them to not present charges if they talked.”

“And Jenny confirmed Rokeby had heroin for personal recreation that Gillespie had access to,” reasoned Robin. “So he grabs it, gives it to O’Brian, who gives it to Whittaker, who administers it to Leda. And we know it had to be him because there are at least sixteen squatters, plus Whittaker’s recently arrested ex-mates, who all assure Whittaker had means, opportunity, and motive, because he was telling his mates the sooner he got rid of her the sooner he’d be rich. And we know, because we asked Randolph Whittaker, that Whittaker’s family didn’t pay him the fancy lawyers like we’d thought, that it was Gillespie, because we tracked down the lawyers Whittaker used and they worked in Gillespie’s law firm at the time, and then when Vanessa investigated she said they’d confirmed they were hired by Gillespie. He probably wanted to defend his son then because they hadn’t succeeded on killing Cormoran and he wanted to try later, or was afraid Whittaker would tell Cormoran.”

“Which led to years of Gillespie getting O’Brian to pay Whittaker in cash the exact same amounts you noticed had been extracted by Gillespie from Rokeby’s account without justification every single January.”

“Until Rokeby finds out enough to threaten Gillespie and getting him to retire, moment in which O’Brian stops working for him, Gillespie loses access to Rokeby’s money, and Al said those annual extractions of money stopped when Gillespie left and nobody came reclaiming any unpaid money afterwards, so it clearly wasn’t like they’d forgotten an employee. Whittaker didn’t say anything because then he’d have to confess to killing Leda.”

“And we got him. Good thing we can put away all these boxes of evidence,” Michelle nudged with her foot one of the many boxes that piled up in a corner. “Come on, I’ll take you home. It’s time to rest, and tomorrow morning we’ll bring all of this to Vanessa Ekwensi so she can officially get the judge to reopen the investigation.”

“Good idea,” Robin puffed in exhaustion and after securing the windows, locked the room, then the office, and they both went to Michelle’s car.

Strike, at home, was recovering three days after having a vasectomy via the NHS, and Robin didn’t love ignoring him for work for prolonged amounts of time, in case he was in too much pain or needed some help with his recovery. Jonathan was home, but he was supposedly out all day in interviews and sending out CVs, and besides Strike was probably not comfortable with having his help for his crotch, so Robin didn’t count with her brother’s assistance on the matter.

Michelle waited in the car to see Robin open the fence, cross the front garden, and enter her building before driving away, because it was dark outside and she wanted to make sure Robin wouldn’t get assaulted before she could do something to prevent it. Then, Robin waited for the lift and went up to the fourth floor, the attic one, although thankfully this only meant the ceiling was slightly inclined in the bathroom, the two bedrooms, and a small portion of the sitting room, where she found Strike asleep on the sofa, snoring under a blanket, with a now melted ice pack pressed against his groin over his  underwear.

R obin smiled gently as she approached him, turning a lamp on, and sat on the coffee table in front of him, caressing his curls. She loved to stare at him when he slept, when his face looked completely relaxed and free of stress and worries, and when he looked the most innocent. In moments like that, Robin could perfectly picture toddler Strike, falling asleep after a long day playing in the beach in Cornwall. Her smile grew when she looked over and noticed a magazine of weddings on his belly. He was clearly taking their wedding seriously, doing some research.

“Wake up sleepyhead,” whispered Robin, leaned to kiss his forehead and pepper kisses around his face, mostly on his lips. The downside of working so much was how much she, too, missed him.

Strike’s snores came to a sudden halt and after a moment his eyes opened charged with sleep.

“R’bin?” he murmured.

“Hi,” Robin kissed his lips again. “I’m sorry I’m late again. Come to bed with me?” Mostly asleep, Strike nodded and Robin helped him sit up and get up, guiding him by grabbing his hand because he was walking with the eyes closed. She quickly left the ice pack in the freezer, as it had now melted, and took him to their room, letting him cuddle against her as they fell into bed, his face against her chest as she played with his curls until they fell asleep.

Used to waking up early, Robin couldn’t sleep in if she tried, so she carefully disentangled herself from Strike with the first rays of sunlight, kissed him and tucked him in, and quietly walked in her pyjamas first to the bathroom and then to the kitchen, where Jonathan was already in a suit and making himself some breakfast.

“Morning!” he said with a grin. “Guess who has an interview early today?”

“Congratulations!” Robin gave him a grin and a double thumbs up. “That’s how you conquer London. What’s the job?” she asked as she joined him in breakfast preparations.

“Lab technician, just for what I studied,” he grinned proudly. “And it’s this super cool company that works in ecological energies and ecological things to make the world better, so my heart is double happy. They called me yesterday evening, wanted to see me ASAP.”

“Well there you go! Just don’t get too nervous and remember you are their guy, you know your drill and you’re going to impress them because you’re a rock star. The trick is leaving Yorkshire humbleness behind and feeling like a wolf out of Wall Street, okay? You’re going for their necks, they want you to be all ‘me, me, me’. I learned that when I did interviews back in the day.”

“Wolf, gotcha,” Jon nodded, sitting down to eat with her.

“If you want I could drive you, I’ll throw my coat on and get some shoes, drive you and come back, won’t even have to wait for me to get properly ready.”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course, you’re my baby brother.”

“Well I’d appreciate it, I’m still a bit of a mess guiding myself around here and I’d rather not think about underground breakdowns on my way to an important interview. I’ll find my way back afterwards. Thanks Rob.”

“No problem, let me just eat and scribble Cormoran a note so he doesn’t wonder where I’ve gone off to now.”

R obin came back from driving Jonathan just as Strike was stirring in bed, stretching out and groaning like a bear, so she heard him and got a pack of ice, walked into the bedroom, and grinned as he looked sleepy at her.

“Why you got shoes ‘nd coat with ya pyjamas?” he murmured as she climbed on the bed.

“Drove Jon to his first big interview, he’s nailing it as we speak I’m sure, and with the way he spoke of that company it seems they’ll be paying him enough to get out of here in a couple months, so we can have loud sex again when you’re recovered,” she kissed him and lowered his boxers, pressing the ice pack directly against his sack. He let out a long sigh. “Better?”

“Much,” his eyes got blank for a moment as he assimilated the relief. “Hurts like a bitch sometimes.”

“It already looks much better though,” said Robin looking around the incision site. “A bit swollen but that’s normal. My poor man, the world’s so unfair, the Herberts dying for children and needing so many years to finally get to the five months of pregnancy milestone, and you needing a painful surgery just to make sure you _don’t_ end up with twins.”

“Right? Fucking world,” Strike smiled as Robin leaned to kiss him again. “Ugh, I can’t fucking believe we can’t be fucking while Jon’s gone. Fucking recovery needs… but I’m really glad I did this, you know why?”

“Because we don’t want children and we’re going to be saving a lot of cash in condoms?”

“Yes, but also,” Strike looked at her tenderly. “After all you’ve been through, I never want you to have more pain and blood down there, and this is 99% efficient, which united to your pill makes over a 100% efficient, so… you won’t have more pain and blood, aside from your period that is, not caused by a man who loves you.”

“That is very sweet, Cormoran,” she beamed down on him. “I’ve got some good news for you, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Last night Michelle and I confirmed our investigation is finished. We’re going to go in a couple hours to hand Vanessa copies of everything so she can get the judge to officially reopen the investigation on your mother’s death, then Vanessa and Eric will take over it, and check all the leads I gave them, witnesses, everything I’ve already done, putting the official stamp on it and bringing the police powers and resources to make it all even more tied up. And in a month, perhaps two, they’ll have to arrest people, make a trial… and I guarantee you, I’d bet all I have that I have tied up things so expertly there’s no way Leda’s murderer doesn’t end up in prison this time.”

Strike’s eyes widened and he looked at her like she had just told them they’d earned several billion pounds by chance.

“You’ve confirmed she was killed?” he said shocked. “Was it Whittaker like I suspected?”

“You were right all along. Twenty years, you always knew it,” Robin kissed him again, cupping his face. “There were other people too, nobody you like but… I can’t tell you more for now. We don’t want their defence to say that a police investigation based on my investigation is biased because you, interested party, got full access. It’s important to keep you at margin for as long as possible.”

“I know… but if you tell me you got that son of a bitch, that’s all I need. I trust you, I know nobody could’ve done it better than you, not even me. I’m so proud of you Robin… and so thankful, and so impressed, and so in awe… and so fucking lucky now you’re going to go and marry me.”

Robin beamed at him, lying next to him with her hand under his boxers to keep the ice in place, watching his face as he looked at her like a man looking at the sunlight for the first time after fifty years stuck in a cave, like she was some sort of God.

“Believe me, I’m about as in awe that this is my life now,” said Robin, staring into his eyes. “And now that I’m not going to be living in the office, we could go back to wedding planning. Make our guests list for example, book a venue so we can make the invitations and start sending them away.”

H e smiled softly, looking warmly at her.

“I would like that very much.”

“Me too,” she kissed him again.

“But we need a date first.”

“I think I’ve got one,” said Robin. “January 29th 2016\. Falls in a Friday.”

Strike’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Mum’s birthday?” she nodded.

“What better way to celebrate it than celebrating love and family, two of the most important things for her?” He grinned from ear to ear.

“I fucking love you, Robin Ellacott.” She snorted a laugh.

“Good, ‘cause you’re never getting rid of me.”

  
  



	16. Wedding madness

**Chapter 16: Wedding madness.**

Something that came easy on cold February Saturday mornings, while Jonathan was out with his new work colleagues to do some bonding, was sitting in front of the fireplace and getting some wedding planning done. From the start, Strike and Robin had hoped for a small wedding, with only the very closest relatives and most important friends, but still they feared the wedding would end up a bit large.

“I think I’ve finished,” said Robin, who had been tasked with the final touch-ups on the list, while Strike browsed some wedding invitation designs to come up with the most perfect one for them. It was a new and odd experience for them together, spending their time in cosy pyjamas, snuggled on the sofa sorting out one of the most important days of their lives together, researching weddings, but it was one that seemed to make them even closer. “In your side of the family we have Ted, Lucy, Greg, Luke, Jack and Adam. Jack as a ring bearer,” Strike nodded in agreement. “Won’t Lucy complain the other two don’t have anything?”

“Yes, but what do we do? It’d be absurd to have three boys carrying the rings. And Jack’s the one who buys my love with drawings.”

Robin rolled eyes with a smile, and nodded.

“On my side of the family… fuck, why do I have so many relatives?” Strike roared in laughter.

“It’s fine, we can put all the friends on my side of the seats,” he joked, and Robin sniggered.

“Well luckily a bunch of them won’t be able to make it? We have Mum and Dad,” Robin read. “Stephen, Jenny and Annabel, who’s of course the most adorable flower girl, Martin and plus one, Jonathan and plus one, then Uncle Jason and Aunt Catherine, Katie, her husband and their son, he’ll be nearly five, but if we’re inviting Annabel who’s younger we should at least give them the option of bringing Jonah,” she reasoned, pen in hand. “And there’s Aunt Waverly and her wife Aunt Amanda.”

“And then the Ellacott side,” said Strike, and puffed as he saw the numbers grow.

“But it’s short. It’s just Uncle Aaron, Aunt Angela, and my cousins Damien, Lucas and Nicole with their plus ones.”

“So…” Strike did the mental math. “Twenty four, if they all bring plus ones.”

“Yeah.”

“Your Christmas dinners certainly look much more interesting than mine,” he teased, earning a soft elbow, even though Robin was smiling. “With my family is thirty in family only. Now the rest.”

“Well on my side it ends quickly, because it’s just Vanessa and Oliver, Max and Sean,” Robin shrugged. “Your side is the long one here.”

“You mean _our_ side, at this point. Besides, what’s mine is yours,” he chuckled, kissing her cheek soundly. “The Herberts, no twins because they’re super newborns by then, right?”

“Yeah. Should we invite their parents too? I mean they _are_ your childhood friends, Ted’s friends with Ilsa’s parents, and if Max is coming then Ilsa’s brother should too because is the very reason we all know Max. And Spanner’s done a ton of jobs for us, we need to invite him.”

“Okay so Ilsa’s family and Nick’s family, hopefully someone will be unavailable. Ted will have contemporaries to chat with that he knows, too,” Strike agreed reluctantly. “Our work mates, of course, it’d be rude not to right?”

“Right.”

“So Pat, her husband, the Barclays, the Hutchinses… is Michelle seeing anyone, you reckon?”

“She has a girlfriend, so,” Robin tapped the paper, and Strike nodded. “Shanker?”

“No, he’d nick everything and besides he finds weddings boring and ties a living hell, we’d only torture him. But there’s Eric and April, and I could call Hardy see if he and the family are interested. And seeing how surprised everyone is to see me married, I suppose they will be. And Chum and his wife, with I suppose their monster daughters. At least they’ll keep Luke and Adam entertained enough to not fuck anything up.”

“It’s so endearing to hear you talk about children,” Robin joked with a belly laugh, and he smiled warmly at her. By the time of their wedding, he’d long before have his brand new prosthetic leg, a very cool new model with the most modern technologies that could even bring sports back into his life, and that would be finished in less than a month. He trusted that’d get him dancing with her all night. “You’re forgetting the Rokebys, by the way.”

Strike threw his head back with a puff of air.

“Do I have to?” he pleaded, and she laughed again.

“Cormoran at least Al, you guys are fixing things now! And you did have a few beers with Pru, ask her if she’s interested.”

“I love and hate your kindness,” he joked, noting down that he had to phone his siblings.

“And what about the Anstises? I thought Richard was a friend?”

“Who thinks I ridiculed him and hasn’t spoken with me since Owen Quine, so much for saving his life,” Strike deadpanned. “No, he can disappear for all I care.”

“Ouch,” Robin smirked, wrapping her arms around his waist. “So an approximate number of total guests?”

“Uh…” Strike counted quickly. “If everybody brings a plus one, about sixty-six, could be less. Hey, it’s not _that_ much!”

“See? It’s not so hard, my first wedding had twice as much, half of them were Matthew’s colleagues, so this wedding is already a million times better.”

“Just with ending in me waiting for you in bed it already is,” joked Strike, raising a suggestive eyebrow that made her laugh.

“I won’t deny it,” Robin kissed him and he turned for a full make-out session that she stopped when it was heating up. “Strike, you can’t get excited, you’re healing…” she warned with an amused smile, and he groaned.

“My doctor thinks he said an easy thing, and he doesn’t realize the madonna I live with.”

“You flatter me,” Robin stood up and stretched her arms over her head while Strike shamelessly whistled at her arse, making her giggle. “Seriously stop…”

“Can’t help myself. So these invites all look nice but which colours are we going for? Can’t believe an SMS is not proper enough, we live in 2014…”

“You’re so not sending an SMS, let me check,” Robin sat back down and looked at his laptop. “Okay so for your knowledge. Weddings have colour palettes, we have to choose between two and three colours that combine nicely. Like, when I first married we chose golden and white, so everything was pretty much those two colours everywhere you looked, and Vanessa had black, white and golden, that’s why I wore a black and white dress, so it’s important.”

“Well which colours do you like?” Strike inquired.

“I like green,” said Robin, knowing it was his favourite. “What if we go for green, white and ivory? We could have different tones of greens for the bridesmaids to choose dresses, and maybe mint ties for the men. Make it just a touch of colour in little green details here and there, and then have very white napkins and flowers with some ivory colours, what do you think? It is your wedding too.”

“Uhm…” Strike pursed his lips in thought. “We could play with that idea and… well, I don’t know what kind of wedding you were thinking of, but I thought, not a religious one because last time I went to Church I was perhaps eight,” she chuckled at him, nodding, “and you’re a divorcée, and we’d have to be convincing some vicar, and what for? Vanessa and Oliver had a really nice civil wedding. I was thinking… I know we said London because it makes things easier but what if we just pick somewhere as close to London as possible, like Kent? Because I was thinking... close to the ocean, you know, for Joan,” Robin nodded, understanding. “And because it’ll be cold, perhaps find a castle or something, and make it vintage, rural, thingy with lots of plants and stuff. Old,” he pointed to himself, “and new,” he pointed to her, “countryside and ocean side. Us.”

Robin smiled small.

“I know we were clear it’d be in London but… that was when we thought we weren’t going to have much money for it, now we do. Cormoran… why not St Mawes Castle? It’s gorgeous, it’s _home_ , my family will get to see your Cornwall, and it’ll be much warmer than in London, for sure no snow. Surrounded by ocean, simple and humble yet with the wonderfulness and magic of a castle, and we could get ready at Ted’s, I’m sure Lucy won’t mind being the one to crash a hotel for once, given the occasion. We could pay the trip to my family and our London friends, maybe even have them come a week ahead and just have fun exploring Cornwall as a joint family, get to know everyone for a week before the wedding. Then you and I dash somewhere nice for our honeymoon now we can afford one, and the others can get to know more Cornwall or return to their homes.”

“It does sound really nice…” Strike bit his lip in thought. “But making your entire family go through such a long trip, with a baby and all…”

“They’ll grab a plane, it wouldn’t be much different for them than if they came to London. And Cornwall is fucking gorgeous for the pictures, and won’t be disgusting with traffic… how are the floods in January though? Because _that_ could ruin things a little.”

“We can always marry in a boat,” he joked, making her snort a laugh. “Floods did make life hard for Lucy and I in January and February last year, but we’ll keep an eye on it, right? Be ready to relocate farther from the coast if needed. If it’s Cornwall, it’ll be close enough to Joan no matter where.”

“As long as you can smell the ocean,” she said, and he nodded with a smile.

“You know it. So Cornwall then?”

“Cornwall,” Robin nodded. “Feels right in my ribcage,” he snorted a laugh, kissing her cheek. “So we could go for some soft green, white and golden for the invites?”

“Sounds good, love. What about bridesmaids and ushers? I’m happy with just Nick, really. But perhaps they don’t stand? I always found that ridiculous. Let’s just give them best seats and load them with the baggage of our wedding planning.” Robin chuckled.

“Fine then… Ilsa, surely. Lucy, or she’ll have our heads,” Strike groaned, but Robin smiled fondly at him. “Katie, she was supposed to always be my bridesmaid like I was hers, she’s my bestie, but she was pregnant before. And Vanessa. Think you can find three men more that you like? For symmetry and also because planning the wedding away from London means we’re going to need more hands in.”

“Well… Chum,” said Strike with a thought. “If he stops with the nationalism for one single day. Stephen, I like him, and he’s gotten married before too, so he knows the drill. And uhm…” he was at odds. “Max? He saved your ass big time with the flat, he let me stay too, and he’s been so wonderful to us… it’d be a nice way to show him we truly appreciate him, right?”

“And he looks good in a suit,” Robin nodded, satisfied. “Two bridesmaids and ushers from each side seems fair. We’ll divide tasks further on, but Dave’s a nice touch, we need someone in St Mawes, definitely. And Nick, Lucy and Ilsa can be there easily when needed too. Also, what were you thinking about the dress code? Do you like bowties or anything in particular? Something you’re comfortable with, and have in count day wedding, because if it’s night we’ll freeze our arses. Besides that way the party can be longer.”

“Jonny told me to get a nice suit, so I will. I rock them nicely, and you deserve a groom in a suit,” Strike smiled lovingly at her. “You’ll wear white?”

“Yeah, let’s try and pretend I’m pure like a virgin,” she joked, making them both laugh. “It’ll be cold, perhaps you want a vest too?”

“Most definitely, or my nipples will be like rocks, don’t know yours,” Strike snorted a laugh, and she sniggered, having too much fun with the planning. “Actually I was thinking on purely a three piece suit, because I’m not that snobbish and it’s not church… but I’ve never worn a morning coat and it would be warmer, and a nice first time for a once in a lifetime event.”

“Sure, never wore one at your sister’s wedding, or Nick and Ilsa’s?”

“Nick and Ilsa’s… no, I wore a three piece. It was a weird wedding. Anyway, no cravats, I prefer a tie.”

“Tie, okay, good,” Robin shrugged. “You coordinate the ushers, let’s see if we can get everyone to at least look like you belong to the same wedding party.”

“Yeah,” Strike yawned deeply. “Can we have a cuddle break?”

“Cormoran Strike asking for a cuddle break? Aww, I’ve softened you!” Robin grinned, closed the laptop and cuddled into his side. “Well since you asked so nicely…”

“It’s all your fault,” Strike wrapped his arms around her. “Getting me all whipped and in love, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Oh I am, Mr Strike,” Robin smiled against his chest. “Deeply ashamed.”

Strike laughed under his breath, playing with her hair as they snuggled together.

“Perhaps I should be calling and booking the venue?” asked Strike.

“Good thinking.”

“Okay, let’s cross fingers,” Strike grabbed his mobile and after a quick search for the castle’s contact information, he phoned them. After a quick exchange, Strike smiled and gave Robin a thumb’s up mouthing ‘we got it’, she cheered excitedly. “Yes, names are Robin Venetia with ‘t’, Ellacott, two ‘ts’ and ‘ll’,” Strike spelled into the phone, “she’s the bride, and groom’s Cormoran, like the bird but without the ‘t’ in the end, and not Cameron, Cormoran,” he spelled slowly, “Blue Strike. Yes. Fantastic, thank you,” he hung up and grinned to Robin. “We’ve got the castle booked from first hour of January 29th to the last of the 30th, so we choose whichever hour we want for the ceremony and we can party all the time we want. Great, isn’t it?”

“You know, efficiency is sexy,” Robin chuckled, kissing him as a reward. “Okay so we have the venue, we have the date… oh, we need to go to the registry and give notice!”

“Do we?”

“Yeah, I mean we could do it later but we have nothing better to do today and we’re within the less than twelve months required for the ceremony time span,” explained Robin. “So I say we get it out of the way, in case we end up forgetting or get too busy later and it’s harder to fit the time.”

“Okay, so should we get our papers? Let’s go…”

While they got dressed and collected their documentation, Robin’s mountain of papers bigger because it included the divorce papers, as she had to prove her previous marriage had come to an end, it dawned on Strike that after this, it’ll be official. The registry would know and have an officiant on standby, they’d sign their first papers to bind them to each other’s future forever, they’d start getting invites made and sent, and there was no going back. He found this made him a little nervous, but also excited, happy he hadn’t gone this far with Charlotte but would with Robin.

She put on a pretty dress and her coat, and he got a suit, and he drove them in his BMW to the offices, excited butterflies in both their stomachs. There was quite the waiting time at the offices, but at last, they were attended and Strike nearly bit his nails as he watched the officer scrupulously check all the papers, make questions, spend a long time making sure everything was in order.

“All right,” the old man said at last, nodding. “Will there be a pre-nuptial agreement?” he looked at them through bespectacled eyes.

“No,” said Strike.

“Yes,” replied Robin at the same time. Realizing their opinions differed, Robin looked at Strike with a sense of urgency. “Do you mind if we do it? I mean, I _know_ we’re not going to need it, but if for whichever crap of destiny things do end up badly, which I hope doesn’t happen, I don’t want the same hell of a divorce I lived with Matthew. I just want to make sure to agree beforehand in case of a divorce what’s mine is mine and what’s yours, remains yours, that’s all.”

“Well, if it matters to you…” Strike shrugged. “I suppose it shouldn’t be a problem, we’re not going to need it anyway. Yes, we’ll sign it.”

“Then you’ll need a solicitor to take care of that, make sure to have time to think properly how you’re going to divide things before the wedding,” the elderly man pressed a stamp against the legal document. “Well, hereby I register your wedding for Friday 29th of January 2016 at 2pm in St Mawes Castle, St Mawes, Cornwall. Congratulations.” They stood and shook hands, and as they walked away, Robin beamed up at Strike, who smiled in return.

“Let’s get married handsome.”

“Ready when you are.”

  
  



	17. Ectasy

**Chapter 17: Ecstasy.**

As Strike got ready for the concert date she had with Robin that night, followed by dinner reservations at The Ritz, he meditated that it had been many years since the last time he had gone on a Valentine’s Day date. Robin and him had planned this day together, there was a classical rock concert in Hyde Park they’d be going to, which worked perfectly for them because their first ‘date’ had happened there and it was a band they’d listened to a couple of times before and liked, they had gotten their schedules free, Robin had brought breakfast to bed while Strike had handed her a bouquet of red roses, and they were ready to have a good time. They had even gone as far as to going to their booked Ritz’ room ahead of time to leave a change of clothes to put on in the morning, knowing if it depended on them, now Strike was cleared for bedtime fun again, they weren’t coming back any sooner than that.

“Okay, there’s enough in the kitchen to cook yourself some dinner, and we’ll be back in the morning. Keep your phone charged, don’t go to sleep without making sure the door’s properly locked and all the windows are properly closed, unless you want to keep yours open. Don’t burn the flat while we’re gone, don’t get some party going, and if you have a girl over use a condom,” Robin indoctrinated her little brother once they stood ready in the entry, and Strike watched with amusement as Jonathan’s ears turned scarlet.

“Okay _Mum,_ but nobody’s coming over, I told you, I’m knackered from work I just want a night off,” Jon insisted. “Go have sex like rabbits.”

“Oh we will,” Robin sniggered, and kissed his cheek. “Love you, have fun.”

“You too,” Jonathan held the door open. “Do everything I wouldn’t do, Corm.” He snorted a laugh and winked at him.

“Will do!” he couldn’t stop turning to look at Robin frequently as Robin drove.

The woman was in flames. She had a deep red lipstick to die for, and below her coat and scarf, she had the shortest dress in history, with dark leotards and a cleavage that left little to imagination, and Strike had already assumed and accepted he’d spend hours in a permanent state of semi hardness. This was the first time they could go back to action after his vasectomy, so it had been long enough for him to get a little desperate -a thing that hadn’t really happened to him before Robin- and he had therefore made sure to have the wallet nearly more full of condoms than of actual money, because the doctor said it’d still be a few months before they could test he really was effectively infertile.

The concert was nice. There were plenty of couples making out, but everything that existed to Robin and Strike was each other, and they danced, they sang along, and left with the feeling of having had proper fun under the stairs, before going over to The Ritz in Mayfair and sitting down for dinner.

“I got you a little something,” said Robin midway through lunch, digging in her small bright red purse.

“I thought we had agreed not to buy each other anything?” Strike panicked. Had there been some secret feminine language that he was supposed to have understood and seen he had to buy her something?

But Robin’s lips curved into a little half smile, relaxing him.

“Oh, it’s not really a Valentine’s Day present,” said Robin, holding up an envelope. “Vanessa just coincidentally gave me this yesterday, and I thought it’d make you happier than a Rolex.”

“What is it?” Strike took it. The envelope was already opened and it was addressed to Vanessa, from the High Court.

“Read the letter inside.”

Strike pulled a neatly folded letter from the envelope and opened it, seeing it was a trial notice. The letter was brief, and it was a formal communication to DI Ekwensi that, following the arrest and interrogation of Mr Jeff Whittaker and Mr Peter Gillespie, they would be judged for their implication in the murder of Mrs Leda Whittaker on May 7th. Strike had to reread it twice, and then looked up at Robin, shocked.

“They’ve reopened the case?” Robin nodded, smiling. “They’ve arrested Whittaker and Gillespie?” she nodded again.

“Yes, love.”

Strike looked again from the letter to Robin, as if trying to understand a complex mathematical problem.

“They’re accused of killing Mum,” Strike muttered. “It says here charges are first degree murder for Whittaker, and accessory to murder for Gillespie. Plus conspiracy to commit double murders for the both of them. Double? And Gillespie? What…? What? Who else is dead?”

“Nobody, which is why there’s only one murder charge,” Robin pointed out. “Cormoran, love… it’s been proven Gillespie asked Whittaker to have you and your Mum killed,” his eyes widened, astonished. “They succeeded with her, Gillespie even gave him the heroin necessary. He also provided enough to give you another overdose, thinking you’d have to come to the flat and then they could get you, but you never went alone, so they didn’t get to you. Gillespie’s been buying Whittaker’s silence with Rokeby’s money without Rokeby’s knowledge for twenty years, until Rokeby found out he wasn’t a trustworthy man and forced him into retirement, and then I can’t know if Gillespie continued to pay with his own money but he must have.”

“Why would Gillespie do this? I mean I know he’s a piece of scum,” Strike handed her the envelop back. “But Mum never did him any wrongs…”

“It was a long-planned plot, love, and worst is it never even had anything to do with Leda directly. Whittaker’s Gillespie’s son,” Strike’s jaw dropped. “It’s all about bastard sons, isn’t it? You’re Rokeby’s, and Gillespie had his own. The Whittakers had no idea, but Jeff was friends of Gillespie’s much younger brother, they were schoolmates. So eventually through him, Jeff Whittaker found out, and he was a grown teen by then, and presumably threatened to sink Gillespie’s reputation if he didn’t pay his silence, because Whittaker’s Mum was a minor when he was conceived, while Gillespie was older, and she was abandoned and neglected, became an addict and died in the streets eight years ago. Anyway, eventually it was nearly ten years being manipulated by Whittaker, forced to give him money he carefully extracted monthly from Rokeby without his knowledge, and Gillespie got tired of it, and planned to kill two birds with one stone. He wanted to set Whittaker up, convincing him to kill you, and then presumably he’d help the police to get him arrested. With you dead, he wouldn’t have to give you money from Rokeby that he could be robbing, as he had been doing, and he wouldn’t have to fear you one day ruining Rokeby’s life with the press and in consequence ruining his, because Gillespie’s success depended on Rokeby’s. And with Whittaker in prison for life, he was no longer a problem.”

“Still doesn’t explain why Mum…” Strike frowned confused. “What happened?” Robin sighed sadly.

“Gillespie needed to ensure Whittaker would be close enough to you to kill you discreetly. He knew Leda was single, because he had to stay close enough to control your allowances, and she was beautiful, no man wouldn’t want her. So he orchestrated for Whittaker to meet Leda, you know the story. I’m not sure if Whittaker ever really fell in love, but I got several testimonies that claim Whittaker was, because of Gillespie, under the impression that he was personally giving Leda a lot of money for you from Rokeby, which Whittaker would have access to if she and you died. Gillespie didn’t really have anything against your Mum, although he might’ve thought with her gone she would also stop buggering them and might’ve seen it as a plus, but he knew the only way Whittaker would be convinced enough to kill you was to offer him all that money from your Mum, and that could only happen if she was dead too. He probably considered her death collateral damage. And then when they failed to kill you, Gillespie realized that if he let Whittaker go to prison, his problem with you would continue and if Whittaker decided to tell you or anyone that Gillespie had made him do it, his life would be ruined. So it was him, not Randolph Whittaker, who paid the fancy lawyers and got him out of being sentenced for Leda’s death. Gillespie has been paying Whittaker’s silence since, presumably waiting for the day he would get rid of you. Anyway, that’s only as much as I know, once the police took over after the judge officially reopened the investigation, Vanessa said they found more evidence and that now Gillespie’s admitting to a bunch of things trying to get in their good side and get a deal, but she said it’s better I stay away for a bit, like you, so that the defence can’t say the investigation’s biased because you and I are active parts of it.”

“Jesus Christ…” Strike took a deep breath, thoughtful. “You did all of this Robin. You… all those nights you weren’t coming home… you lead the investigation only for the Met to get the credit, so no one could accuse you of manipulating things,” Robin nodded. “This is… this is your first major case, and you’ve given up all credit and recognition… just to make sure nobody can use your participation to delegitimize the entire investigation because you’re the victim’s soon to be daughter in law. Robin, I… I don’t know what to say. This is huge.”

“All I want is for you to know justice’s going to be made. I gave Vanessa everything, she knows which people to talk with, she knows exactly which leads to pursue, she’s competent and she knows exactly how to proceed. And she’s proving she’d made it, so… she’ll get a nice promotion, and we’ll get peace and justice. That’s bigger compensation for my effort than all the gold, admiration and publicity in the world.”

“I know that,” he nodded, his baffled eyes fixed on her, knowing if anyone fully meant that, if anyone was that selfless, it was Robin. “How are you going to hide your participation? I mean, you must’ve spoken with witnesses…”

“It’s all planned out. I spoke with some people, but not many, the rest was Vanessa, Eric, Michelle, Ilsa, Al, even Shanker.”

“Shanker!” Strike snorted a laugh.

“He did a good job,” she reassured him, smiling. “You know he takes your Mum’s things seriously. We will say I was given documentation by Jonny Rokeby himself, and we will say Al witnessed it even if it’s not true, they have no way to prove otherwise. And we will say it started as an embezzlement investigation Rokeby had asked me to do, which is why I interviewed some people, then realized this could be your Mum’s murder investigation and handed it over to Michelle, who got more information and got the police involved. That way no one can say you or I had any major intervention on it, there’s nothing Gillespie can do to delegitimize things. I sat with Ilsa, who tried to build a case against me as if she was Gillespie’s lawyer and she said she found it pretty much impossible, so… I’m sure it’ll be incredibly hard for him to get out of things. And he must know too, because he’s quickly tried a deal.”

“They couldn’t have seen you coming,” Strike smirked smugly. “God, Robin… I’m so in awe of you. I’m so thoroughly impressed, so grateful so…” he got up and walked over to kiss her. “Good luck topping this Valentine’s Day any other year.”

Robin sniggered.

“Well I have forever to keep trying, don’t I?” she kissed him back. “Are you happy?”

“Happy?” Strike grinned, holding her face in his hands. “I could say I’m the happiest man in the universe and it wouldn’t begin to cover how I feel.”

Robin beamed back at him.

“Then maybe you can show me later?”

“I absolutely will.”

To Strike, they had already won. Knowing it had been Robin who had handled everything, he had no doubt they’d be sentenced guilty when the trial came, that they’d spend the rest of their miserable days in a top security ugly prison somewhere far, far away, and they’d never bother him, or his family, ever again. He realized he believed in Robin and her skills with the same devotion and undivided faith that the most religious of men believes in God, and so when they went to bed that evening, he made sure to give himself away in body and spirit and truly show her how much he was devoted to her, how much he loved her, how much he admired her, how grateful and blessed he felt to have her in his life, to be his wife, and how he’d spend his whole life showing it all to her over, and over again. He didn’t stop telling her how wonderful, gorgeous and perfect she was as he entered her and their bodies became one, their souls having found each other long before, and he made sure to keep her in ecstasy until her body was trembling and all she could do next was fall asleep, after hours of pleasure. And even as she slept, he cleaned her, tucked her in bed, snuggled with his arms around her, and promised her eternal love and loyalty until he, too, succumbed to exhaustion.

Several days later, it was all public news. Every newspaper had headlines such as ‘THE MURDER OF LEDA STRIKE’, ‘ROKEBY’S RIGHT HAND ARRESTED FOR LEDA STRIKE’S MURDER’, ‘CORMORAN STRIKE’S MOTHER LEDA WAS MURDERED, SAYS THE MET’ or ‘LEDA STRIKE’S MURDER INVESTIGATION REOPENED, 2 ARRESTED’.  Strike’s phone kept ringing with relatives asking what it was all about, and so did Al’s, and press crowded around their flat for people trying to get information from Strike or Robin, in vain.

“What does it mean, Uncle Corm?” asked nearly twelve-year-old Jack, handing Strike an edition of ‘The Guardian’ as Strike and Robin had lunch at Lucy’s one Saturday. A teenager now, Jack was already tall for his age, slim, and extraordinarily resembled Leda, physically, although his eyes were slightly lighter brown, which made for an attractive contrast with the darkness of his short, slightly wavy hair. His curious eyes searched, as usual, answers on the uncle he idolised and worshipped.

“It means Aunt Robin’s done an extraordinary thing, finding out your grandmother didn’t die by accident but because of a couple criminals who are going to go to prison, Jack,” said Strike calmly. Lucy, who had so cheerfully and proudly embraced Robin into the family and even more so after Strike told her what she’d done, eyed her middle son with motherly concern, not wanting to worry him much.

“But why would they hurt grandma? Wasn’t she a model? She wasn’t dangerous,” Jack frowned.

“No, she was a good person who was unfortunate enough to trust the most dangerous, horrible people. You see, your grandma was so generous she was incapable of conceiving people could be that bad, and so she’d help anyone, no matter where they came from. She wasn’t too cautious,” Strike shrugged. “And tragically, that meant she didn’t protect herself enough. And living in a city like London, you always have to look over your shoulder, Jack. You can’t just trust anyone blindly, because some of the worst people in the country are right here.”

“Which is why Daddy and I don’t let you and your brothers out after dark,” added Lucy over her casserole. “Dangerous people lurk in the dark sometimes, to catch the most vulnerable when they least expect it, like young boys like you.”

Jack looked thoughtful for a moment, taking the newspaper back.

“When I’m a soldier, I’ll put all these bastards in prison,” he sentenced. “And then I’ll be a detective and join Uncle Corm and Aunt Robin’s agency and keep catching killers, clean up the streets.”

“Now you want to be a detective too, son?” Greg inquired with a tone of incredulity that pissed Strike off. “Just focus on your grades for now, uh? The rest will come.”

“I get good grades,” Jack said defensively. “And I’m going to be like Aunt Robin, resolving decades-long deaths and fixing the police’s mistakes. You just wait and see, Dad.”

“You’ve earned an admirer,” Lucy murmured to Robin with a small smile, and Robin grinned proudly at Jack, blushed.

“Well Jack, your uncle and I will be happy to have you as an intern when you turn eighteen, but until then, you gotta do what your parents say.”

“Really?” Jack’s eyes enlightened in excitement. “You’ll have me as an intern?”

“Who knows perhaps we can start at sixteen with a little part time paid internship, uh, Luce?” Strike tried, encouraged by Robin’s bright thinking. “We worked part time jobs at sixteen, and what better than employed by his own uncle? Come in the afternoons, help file files and learn the ropes a little.”

“Can I Mum? Can I? Please?” Jack begged Lucy.

“If you keep your grades up, when you’re sixteen, you can,” Lucy agreed, more unable to deny him things since he nearly died from a burst appendix a few years before.

“Yes! I’m going to be the _best_ intern ever!”

Strike and Robin shared a laugh.

“Won’t be hard, you’ll also be the first one…” said Strike.

  
  


  
  



	18. Lucky charm

**Chapter 18: Lucky charm.**

It was mid March when, with Ilsa six months pregnant and enormous,  when Robin accepted her bridesmaids’ suggestion that they’d start hitting London’s top spots for bride dresses, even if it was just a vague looking one Saturday now and then, with the money Rokeby had given them for the wedding. Robin, who hadn’t had much fun the first time she had gone wedding hunting, had twice the fun now with Ilsa, Lucy, Vanessa and her cousin Katie  and her Mum , who came for the weekend, as she let them guide her around London to places she had never visited other than to find Vanessa’s dress back in the day, where they were offered drinks and snacks while Robin tried on about every single dress, many of them just for the fun of it, because she had a clear idea of the type of dress she was looking for.

“You see I’m getting married in January in Cornwall, it’s going to be seaside, will be cold,” Robin was explaining the shop assistant at ‘The Wedding Club’ in South Kensington while she tried on a Pronovias model. “So I want something long-sleeved, but sexy, that doesn’t hide my curves, my fiancé drools at them every single time and what a girl has, a girl has to show…”

“Completely agree,” the assistant chuckled, adjusting her dress. “What do you like about this one?”

“Uhm…” Robin spun, looking at herself in the many mirrors.

“The length is nice,” Linda helped from the sofa where the other ladies were enjoying drinks and snacks.

“And the princess cut makes your arse look fab,” Lucy pointed out.

“Breasts also looking smooth from here,” Vanessa added, taking a sip from her wine, and Robin laughed.

“What they said, Maddie,” said Robin. “Plus I love the lace and the embroidery, I know Cormoran would like it as well. Oh, and I’m going to wear these high, ivory Jimmy Choos if that helps.”

“How are you going to wear your hair, do you know?”

“No, probably… something loose. It’s shorter now, but it’ll be long for the wedding, maybe I’ll put the rolls. I don’t want to wear it as doll like as for my first wedding, I married a jerk and now I’m marrying blue prince, if you know what I mean.”

“Literally, his middle name is Blue,” Ilsa said with an olive in her mouth, and Maddie, the assistant, giggled, amused.

“Okay take that off, I think we just received what you’re looking for. Let me get it from the box, we literally just received it two hours ago,” Maddie rushed to the back of the store, and Robin behind the curtain to get dressed, then Maddie helped her into a brand new gown that when Robin exited the changing room, got the ladies’ jaws dropped.

“Oh my God,” Katie’s eyes widened. “Robs that’s the one.”

“You look so beautiful, darling,” Linda said with her hands brought to her chest.

“Robin…” Lucy shook her head in awe. “My brother’s going to have a heart attack when he sees you in _that_.”

“You look like a princess,” Vanessa murmured, looking at her up and down.

“Princess? More like a goddess…” added Ilsa.

“Yeah?” Robin turned around to look at herself in the mirror and her heart skipped a beat. She had never looked so stunning in anything, ever.

The dress in question was another Pronovias, feathery embroidered, beading all over the skirt, back and bodice, and a tulle gown that floated like angelic, and the embroidery make her look like the beautiful rays of ice that one could see in the microscope had extended over her body, leaving parts of her arms and chest transparent and covering with shinning ivory beads the rest. It had long sleeves that reached the low of her thumbs, it was princess cut, so it enhanced each and every curve as it fell elegantly like floating snow, and it had a normal neck, but transparent, covered by the embroidery and beads in a way that made it look like the neck actually ended in her cleavage, feathery shapes extending to cover her breasts discreetly and still create a sexy cleavage. On the other hand, the skirt fell long to the floor, slightly raised in the front to ease walking, and with just a bit of tail in the back. She looked, overall, like a sexy, powerful, celestial angel, or a goddess. [ **A/N: I actually was inspired by a real dress that made my jaw drop when I imagined Robin in it, and if you want to check it, is called ‘DAVIES’ and it’s truly Pronovias magic** ].

“Oh my God…” Robin murmured, shocked by her reflection in the mirror. She could only think of a word both Rokeby and Strike had used to describe her more than once. “I look like an angel.”

“Barely even needs fitting,” Maddie grinned. “Your body just fills it like the dress was made for you. And it’s an exclusive design, only five models available in the country. I knew it’d be the one for you, I’ve got a good eye, uh? What a goddess you are! You want to try the over skirt that comes with it? It’s optional.”

“I actually never liked overskirts but… you know, do you think you could find some… lightweight, kind of cape? Something that matches the style, something with a lot of tail… Because I’m not wearing a veil, so you know.”

“Oh I know what you’re thinking,” Maddie smirked. “To add some kind of majestic aura, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Robin nodded, still in shock by her reflection in the mirror.

Maddie went to the back of the store again and after a few minutes came with a long, elegant, tulle cape with a bit of a matching beading, that seemed made for the dress and could clip elegantly to the collar of the dress, elegantly covering her shoulders and falling down her back. Robin grinned, loving it.

“I see your hair loose, long, with that shinning beauty of strawberry blondiness you’ve got going on, you curl it a little bit, maybe get you a waterfall braid and then we can put some gorgeous clip headpieces with rhinestones, or were you thinking of a tiara?” Maddie advised.

“You wanted a tiara the last time,” Linda reminded Robin, who nodded.

“Yes, but… actually not any more. I like Maddie’s idea, what headpieces have you got?”

I n the end, they left the place with the dress sent to making the necessary adjustments for fittings, same for the cape, and a newfound wave of excitement as some things begun to be ready.

“Well I say we celebrate the successful shopping going somewhere nice for lunch, should we? My treat!” Ilsa offered.

“Oh I’d love to, but I should really pass by the office just five minutes,” said Robin. “Just to check a couple things.”

“We have the Land Rover, why don’t we all go? I’d love to see your new office,” said Katie, and there was a murmur of approval as nobody had seen it, and only heard of how nice it was to be in Baker Street. “Besides I want to meet that Cormoran of yours.”

“All right, let’s go.”

Robin drove them cheerfully through London, in the vehicle where they could all fit comfortably, and parked near the office, that these days was in a constant buzz of activity. They crossed paths with Sam Barclay and Michelle, who were on their way to lunch and surveillance, and Robin was pleased with the compliments because on their way up on the lift everything was so clean, and there was a cellar and a guard, and it was so much safer and nicer than the other office. Hearing the approval on Linda’s voice was specially touching.

Finally they reached the door with the plaque ‘Strike Private Investigations Agency’ and before Robin could open it opened to let satisfied clients out, who Robin greeted before coming inside.  It smelled nicely of food and judging by the emptiness in the reception, they had begun lunch break, so they moved into the adjacent room where Pat and Strike were having beers together while she started her lunch at the large table.

“Hello there, bon appétit,” Robin smiled at Pat and went to kiss Strike. “Hi stranger.” The office people had found out they were together once they were engaged, and although shocked, everyone had been happy about it.

“Hi!” Strike kissed her back. “Oh, everyone’s here. How are you, Linda?”

“Very well Corm, you?” Linda shook his hand with a warm smile. They hadn’t seen each other since their cold encounter at Robin’s first wedding three years previously, but they’d moved on.

“Can’t complain,” Strike smiled back.

“Guys, this is our office manager Pat. And Corm, this is my cousin Katie,” Robin introduced them, and Pat waved as she ate.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Katie shook Strike’s hand. “I’ve heard so much about you I feel like I already know you.”

“I promise I’m not as wonderful as she makes it,” Strike joked, and moved over to kiss his sister’s cheek and salute Vanessa and Ilsa. “So what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need to go to my office five minutes,” said Robin. “And we found the dress!” she added already outside the room.

“On the second day looking? Wow,” Strike looked surprised. “Can I offer you a drink? Tea? Beer?”

“I’ll obviously want whiskey,” Ilsa joked, deadpanning with sarcasm. “But we’re actually going for lunch now, if you want to come?”

“Oh that would be great, I was out all night on surveillance and only this morning I realized I hadn’t prepared lunch and didn’t have time for it. Only to come here and get a text from Jon saying he’d left me some in the fridge that I didn’t see, had to be my luck. Have you seen Jon, by the way?” Strike looked at Linda. “Your boy’s been doing pretty great, he loves his job.”

“He’s always been bright, hopefully he can get off your hair soon, nobody likes to live with their girlfriend’s brother right?” said Linda sympathetically.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it, he’s wonderful. Not like we see him much anyway, here all day. Seen how nice this office is?”

“It looks beautiful,” Lucy complimented. “Have you guys got two offices now?”

“We do, but Robin and I still share, the other’s for everyone else to use as needed. Although Robin had up to the ceiling in boxes last I checked, with another case and tons of papers, so I avoid it. Allergic to chaos,” he joked.

“It’s clean now, all those papers are crowding my office now,” Vanessa said with amusement.

“Cormoran!” Robin came over holding a pile of mail. “There’s a letter for you stuck in my mail,” she handed him an envelope, “from a H. B. Nancarrow. Sounds like a long lost cousin?” Strike frowned at the envelope and after patting it to ensure there was nothing like a finger inside, he folded it and stuck it in his pocket.

“I don’t know any H. B. Nancarrow, but I’ll read it later. I heard there’s lunch and I’m starved, if you’ve finished?”

“Nearly,” Robin threw some trash mail to the kitchen trash. “Got the court notice, first trial session starts on May 7th at 9 am,” she read. “I’m called to testify.”

“Oh yeah, got mine this morning too,” Strike nodded.

“Is that for Mum?” asked Lucy. “Who else has to testify?”

“You should be getting a notice too, this week,” said Vanessa, who was in it to her knees so she knew who was being called. “And Al Rokeby and a few more. But I don’t know how the judge is dividing the sessions yet, so perhaps you’ll be called different days. But they won’t be asking you much, don’t be nervous.”

“Is this the thing Robin was working on that nobody is supposed to know she was working on outside of us?” Linda asked. She’d heard about it a little from Robin.

“Yeah, I’m leading the case for her, so things go our way,” explained Vanessa. “It’s less than two months away so, it’s important Robin’s implication is kept as secretly as possible or the defence will use it to invalidate the entire investigation because of her relationship to Cormoran.”

Strike’s stomach growled and he pretended he hadn’t heard it to stay politely stoic, but Robin snorted a laugh.

“Let’s go eat before this one dies from starvation.”

Later at night, they left Linda and Katie at the hotel they had booked for them, since they didn’t have more than one extra room in the flat and it was being occupied by Jon, and returned home. They’d been spending some quality family time and now it was time for couples time and alone but together time. Robin liked to spend a bit of time reading in bed, and Strike regularly liked to snore while she absently played with his hair and read. However, as he removed his trousers, Strike remembered the letter he hadn’t read yet, from H. B. Nancarrow, so he opened it and turned his own lamp on to read, guessing it’d be fan mail to put him in a good mood for bed, and that the surname was only a coincidence.

‘ _Dear Cormoran,_

_I am Lieutenant Henry B. Nancarrow_ _. I’m 22 now, but back then I was just learning that my life as I knew it was a lie. I thought I was being raised by my grandfather, diplomat Sir Randolph Whittaker, because my parents had died in a car accident shortly after my birth. I thought my name was LaVey Randolph Whittaker, as I was being called, but when I was fifteen and who I thought of as my grandmother died, I eavesdropped a fight between Randolph and our butler, and I found out the truth. That I am Switch LaVey Bloom Whittaker, that you are my big brother and Randolph my great-grandfather, and that my parents are Leda Strike, who from the news I’ve seen lately, was murdered with heroin, and Jeff Whittaker, who for the looks of it killed it. I was so shocked by the news, back when I was fifteen, that I fought with Randolph -we never really got along, he’s sincere and well-intentioned yet a cruel, possessive, cold, selfish man with no paternal instinct, and the nice one was grandma- majorly and ended up running away from home. My best friend’s parents are lawyers and after I explained my reasons to reject Whittaker and to not want to live with him any more, helped me emancipate and I have lived as an adult since._

_Cormoran, I’ve been investigating the truth since, trying to discover what our family was like, but I figured_ _if any of you in Mum’s family had wanted to know anything from me, I would have known by then, which is why I never went to meet you, even when I began to see your name in the papers due to your job. However, at sixteen I wanted to join the_ _Royal_ _Army Medical Corps and I didn’t want to do it bearing a surname I’ve learnt to despise like Whittaker, or my birth name that I never used nor felt comfortable with, nor the name Randolph gave me, for I want nothing to do with him. Instead, I picked Henry, because my girlfriend at the time thought it’d look good on me and I liked it better,_ _although I’m also called Harry frequently,_ _Bloom to keep something of what Mum gave me, and Nancarrow because I found out is the family name. The only family I could feel happy to be a part of,_ _and the only name I could proudly mention in the Army. Never told anyone I’m Ted Nancarrow’s nephew, but I like knowing I chose a name after a man I’ve only heard wonderful stuff from in the Army._

_Anyway, Cormoran, I’m writing to you from_ _Kenya_ _now! I’m finishing a 2 year deploymen_ _t, and an initial 7 years contract that concludes tomorrow. Then I’ll fly back to London, and my superiors have given me three months to reconsider whether I’d like to proceed with a new contract or officially retire. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but for now, I’ve heard about what’s going on, about the trial on my father because he apparently killed Mum, and I wanted to be in London for that. I don’t want to miss it. And I was hoping, maybe when I’m back we could have a beer? Perhaps you could tell me about yourself, and with a bit of luck, I can earn my way back into the family. I miss having a family to go home to._

_If all goes well, I will pass by your office in Baker Street on the morning of Monday_ _16_ _th_ _of May. I’ll make it as early as possible, but I haven’t been in London much since I joined the RAMC so I might get lost and make it a bit later. In any case, I hope you’ll be there. If you do not wish to talk to me, you can write to me at the address in the envelope and I’ll refrain from further communications._

_Thank you._

_All the best from so far away,_

_Your brother Henry._

_P.D.: Here’s a photograph of me so you recognize me._ ’

Inside the envelope, Strike found a portrait of a young boy, and his heart skipped a beat from how much it was like seeing into Jack’s future. The photograph was a candid taken by a friend or perhaps a lover while Henry sat on the ground, presumably in Kenya, laughing with his arms around one folded leg, with a camouflage uniform similar to that Strike had worn in Afghanistan, dark short hair peeking underneath a dark blue beret from the RAMC, lips just like Leda’s, eyes just like hers  in shape, with the striking difference that they seemed dark blue,  and a nose that reminded Strike of Lucy. His face was a softer version of Leda’s heart-shaped face, thinner and more manly, his chin a bit bigger, and he was clean-shaved. Strike could tell he was slim and tall as the Whittakers were, but fit and strong, and the hands around his knee were big, covered in a bit of dark hair. He was undeniably a Nancarrow.

Strike blinked several times, re reading the letter and looking at the picture more often. Each time he went back to it, he felt a surprising feeling of pride and joy fill his insides. His little brother was a lieutenant, already. His little brother had found the truth on his own, had sought his family, had wanted to come and know what was going on. And he wanted to meet him.

“Cormoran? All good?” Strike was brought from the depths of his mind and looked up at Robin, who frowned worriedly at him. “Have you listened to anything I’ve said?”

“What? No, sorry… look,” he gave her the picture.

Robin looked at it with eyes narrowed in concentration.

“It’s funny, he looks like Jack. Is he a friend from the Army?”

“No. He’s Lieutenant Henry Nancarrow, from the Royal Army Medical Corps. But he was born as Switch Whittaker.”

“What?” Robin turned to him in shock, and Strike handed her the letter, which she focused on, closing her book and setting it aside. After a few moments, she smiled, looking up at him. “He’s alive, he’s well… and he’s a _lieutenant_. Must be the youngest lieutenant in Kenya.”

“I know, right?” Strike grinned, sitting up. “You know what, I can’t write to him, it’ll arrive by the time he’s here, but I’m going to call them. It’s only half past eleven there, not that late,” Strike was already researching in his phone for numbers. He had a phone directory from his time there, and there was a central he could phone. “Hello, I apologize for the hour. I’m ex Sergeant Cormoran Strike, Royal Military Cops. I need to communicate with the Medical Corps that’s currently in Kenya, it’s urgent.”

“Sergeant Strike! It’s Captain Ecklam here,” a familiar voice answered him. Strike cheered inside. He’d done plenty of favours for Ecklam back in the day. “It’ll be my pleasure, I’ll pass you through, although signal’s not wonderful. Who do you want to talk to?”

“Lieutenant Henry Nancarrow. Thanks Captain Ecklam.”

“Got it, Sir. I’ll pass you through.”

Strike waited a minute and finally, after hearing some whispers, a voice sounded clearly. One that even though it was entirely new, felt familiar, and brought a pang of affection into his chest.

“Cormoran?” the deep and soft manly voice asked. It was filled with sleepiness, but Strike didn’t regret waking him up. “It’s Henry.”

“Hi, Henry! Listen, I just read your letter and… well, you don’t know how big you’ve made my day. Come home, okay? I’ll wait for you at the office, when you said. We’ve been looking for you, Henry, and I’m dying to meet you.”

“Really?” his voice sounded dramatically more excited. “I can’t wait! I’ve got to go back to bed now, the Captain’s looking at me ugly… but thank you, Cormoran. This makes me really happy.”

“Me too. Come home. Sleep well, brother.”

“God, you too. See you soon.”

They hung up and Strike grinned bigger at Robin, who looked at him filled with expectation.

“He sounds just like a manly version of Mum. It’s incredible. He’s alive, Robin.”

“And he’ll be home soon,” she reached out a hand to bury in his hair and pulled him in for a kiss. “I’m so happy for you, love. Time you got everything you wanted.”

“Can’t fucking believe it… this is all you. You’re my lucky charm, my angel, of course everything would go well now that you’re here.”

“I haven’t done anything,” said Robin sweetly. “Hey, send a picture of the letter to Lucy, tell her. Perhaps you can meet together, when he comes, the three of you siblings, make it a day to reconnect. And when he’s ready to meet the rest of us, you invite him home for dinner.”

“Yeah… Lucy will kill me if I meet him and don’t let her tag along. Mum’s getting justice, our lost brother is found… I can’t wait, Robin.”

“From now on, everything is going to be okay. You will see.”

Strike stared at her beautiful blue-grey eyes and believed her. She was, after all, his good luck charm.

  
  


  
  



	19. Lieutenant Nancarrow

** Chapter 19: Lieutenant  Nancarrow. **

S trike had smoked three cigarettes out of stress before Lucy told him she was downstairs at his office building’s street door, and rushed him over, so they could see their brother faster from afar. She was about as excited as he was, and had already made him photocopy the photograph of Henry, which Cormoran had no doubt without asking that it was now either pinned to her fridge or framed somewhere in her sitting room, perhaps over the chimney, with all the other family pictures.

“Jack was so excited he wanted to come,” said Lucy standing with Strike in the street, looking around with him. It wasn’t even ten yet, and they could still have an hour or two to wait, but they were too anxious to do anything else. “But he had school, and I told him you and I would check this out first before introducing Henry to everyone. Got the day off at work, if anyone asks I’m very ill at home.”

“Absolutely, I’m close to taking you to the hospital,” Strike laughed, looking at his sister, who was in good health. Born blonde, Lucy’s hair had darkened as she grew older and was now between dark, dirty blonde, and light brown, but her blue eyes hadn’t aged, inherited from her father. Seeing that both she and Henry had light eyes, when their mother’s side was all brown eyes as far as they knew, made Strike wonder if they unknowingly descended from a light-eyed person.

“Oh my God Stick, it’s him!” Lucy pointed with her head.

She was right. Coming from Regent’s Park was a man with the walking manners of a soldier, tall, broad-shouldered and slim, evidently quite fit from the army. He had short dark hair, wavy, was clean-shaved like in the picture, and had round glasses to see. Stripped from his uniform, he instead wore a dark blue shirt, dark jeans, elegant black shoes, and a long black coat, open. And he seemed to recognize them too, despite the cloudy day, because he quickly smiled at them and waved. Strike could see Lucy was containing herself from jumping to his arms as they waved back, until there stood Henry in front of them, half a head taller than Lucy and a little shorter than Strike, his jaw sharper now up close, but the resemblance to Leda still remarkable.

“Good morning,” he said with a cheerful tone. “So you must be Lucy, and Cormoran, right?”

“That’s right,” Lucy came over and hugged him. “I’m sorry, we’ve been thinking about you for twenty years!” she excused herself, but Henry smiled and hugged her back.

“I love hugs, no problem,” he said grinning, and took a good look at Lucy as they separated. “You’re a blonde!” he said with surprise.

“Oh, my Dad’s a blonde,” Lucy explained. “God you look so much like Mum! And so handsome! Isn’t he so handsome, Corm?”

“It’s in the family,” said Strike, and smiled warmly, reaching to hug his brother. “I’m _not_ a hugs guy, but it has been so long…”

“So you’ve met me before?” Henry asked, more and more surprised.

“Of course, last time you were two, when Mum died,” said Lucy. “We were taken care of by Mum’s brother and sister-in-law, Ted and Joan Nancarrow, they’ve acted like surrogate parents forever. And they did everything they could to get your custody too, but your grandpa’s a very powerful man and he pulled really big lawyers who convinced the judge he was the best option, being in London and full of money, while Ted and Joan were in Cornwall and didn’t have much. We did everything we could, but we lost you… and we’ve wondering what happened to you since.”

“Wow, I had no idea,” said Henry, stunned. “But aren’t you a private investigator?” he looked up at Strike.

“Yes, but… by the time I had knowledge and capacity to find you, it had been years and…” Strike shrugged. “I was afraid of finding out you’d taken after your father, or that you were dead, too afraid to look it up. I’m so, so, sorry, Henry.”

“It’s all right,” Henry nodded, not a resentful man. “Let’s go have a beer, right? Catch up?”

“Sure!” Lucy grinned, wrapping an arm around him as the three walked along.

As it turns out, Henry hadn’t done bad for himself at all. He had acquired his medical education in the RAMC and during his short stays in London, had bought a small flat in Fulham he shared with his girlfriend Rebecca Kaylor, a fellow RAMC lieutenant he had met when they’d both entered the corps at the same age, befriended, and started dating after a year. They were now seven years together, both finishing contracts, and had returned together, but she was home. They were both seriously considering  applying for permanent positions in a military hospital in London, so that they wouldn’t have to leave the city again, as they wanted to settle down after seven years all over the world. They also considered applying for a normal hospital, if the RAMC didn’t give them better options.

Meanwhile, Strike and Lucy told him all about their lives, answered all of Henry’s questions, and he answered all of theirs, and their beer prolonged to lunch time, so they ate together and talked some more, quickly beginning to feel like there was a natural fondness between them, as if they’d never been separated, like dogs from the same family that meet again in adulthood and sniff something known in each other, something that identifies them as family automatically. The day before, Strike had also asked Hardy to find all the information he could on Henry, so now he commented full of pride how successful his career was, and how many nice things he had heard about him. Meanwhile, Henry was most amazed by the discovery that he had nephews -contrary to Strike, he loved children- and that Strike was getting married and now he, Henry, was invited to the wedding  as a ushers, if he wanted,  which he was happy to accept.

“And this is Jack, he wants to be an SIB, he looks so much like you,” Lucy was showing Henry all the pictures now, and he was ecstatic.

“He does! He has a witty expression,” Henry commented. “You’ve grown a lovely family, Luce.”

“Thank you,” said Lucy, flattered.

“What about you, bro? Gonna get yourself a kid or two after you’re married?” Henry teased Strike, who snorted, shaking his head.

“I’ve never wanted children, got a vasectomy to make sure it doesn’t happen. And my bride is not very attracted to motherhood either, we’re both big fans of our job. Obsessed is more an understanding, either.”

“That’s good, do what you love,” said Henry. “I can’t wait to meet everyone.”

“Do you want to come have dinner at my house tonight? You can bring Rebecca, the children would love to meet you both,” offered Lucy.

“I’d love to, but Rebecca and I just got to London, we need a day or two to reconnect with our flat and disconnect from the military… but how about Friday? I can ask her, I’m sure she’ll be delighted.”

“Friday works perfect!” Lucy grinned. “What do you say, Stick? Want to bring Robin along?”

“I’ll ask her, yeah,” Strike nodded.

“Why the nickname ‘Stick’? Is it because of the leg?” said Henry clearly amused.

“Oh, when we were little, our teachers and many of his mates would often call him Strike, and I was two years younger so when I heard it as a toddler, I found it curious and began to call him Strike as well, only that I couldn’t pronounce it,” explained Lucy joyfully, as she often got telling happy childhood stories, the very few they had. “So I began to say Stick and then it just stuck. It was only coincidence he ended up getting a stick for a leg.”

Henry chuckled.

“That’s so cute. So you’re nearly forty one, right? Which means you’re about thirty-nine?” Henry asked with curiousness.

“That’s right. Thirty-nine in September,” Lucy confirmed with a nod and a smile. “I guess Mum didn’t think she’d have more kids when you came, but she loved you so very much Henry, really, you should know, since no one’s told you anything. I wasn’t living with Mum, because of what I told you before that I moved out, but every time we spoke on the phone she was gushing about the next cute thing you’d done and how wonderful you were, sending pictures… right Corm?”

“Yes,” Strike nodded, remembering. “And when we could finally come to meet you for the Christmas holidays, I think you were a couple weeks old or so at the time, she would force us to sit holding you in turns, and over and over claim she had made the three most perfect children. She was truly a very loving woman. Very faulty, Lucy’s super resentful for a bunch of things, but she loved us very much.”

“God, I’d love to have met her,” said Henry with a hint of sadness. “But hey, now I got you lot! I can only imagine she’s grinning over from heaven, we’re like the three musketeers back together!”

While the younger siblings chit-chatted, Strike paused to check his phone, realizing Robin didn’t know he’d gone for lunch with his siblings. He indeed had missed texts from her.

‘ _Having lunch with the siblings? Hope everything’s going well. I’m going to head home for the day and do some research on some cases from them. Gonna try to discreetly sneak a nap while nobody’s watching. Love you, have fun! Xoxo_ ’

Strike smiled at the message. It was from half an hour before.  As he was about to text back, his phone buzzed with a call from Robin.

“Sorry, I’m gonna answer real quick, it’s Robin,” Strike excused himself, moving away. “Hi love w— Robin?” he could only hear noise, a thud, a yelp. “Robin!” he had only turned away from his table, stopping on his tracks instead of continuing to the door, and a few people around him had turned. “Robin!” he shouted into the phone, hearing what seemed like a phone, and then quick steps and silence. “ROBIN!” his heart thundered in his chest.

“Corm, what’s wrong?” Henry rushed over, worried, with Lucy in tow. Strike was ashen.

“I think Robin’s been attacked.”

**. . .**

Vanessa had said that she had found Robin. Vanessa had said that he shouldn’t worry, that it was going to be fine. They were only taking Robin to the theatre because she had a minor bullet would, but Strike wasn’t sure how a bullet wound could ever be minor. But she was going to be  _fine_ and Vanessa had rid in the ambulance with her, and now the five, Strike, Vanessa, Jon, Lucy and Henry awaited patiently in the hospital waiting room to hear news. Vanessa had told Strike how Robin said she had been walking through their street, about to phone Strike and three guys had very suddenly exited a car that was parked next to her and she had run, but they had gotten back in the car and had run her over. Not too hard, they weren’t at a great speed and the distance to gather speed had been really short, but hard enough to cause quite the bruising and, the paramedics had said, likely a concussion. Anyway, Robin had said she had been about to get back up and run to the flat, the car driving by thinking they had hit her harder than they had, when the car had suddenly reappeared and they had shot her from it, with a silencer in the gun.

The phone Vanessa had recovered from the grass by the pavement, that surrounded their flat and where Robin had been found, was now on Strike’s hand, a photograph of Robin and Strike with arms around each other, mid-laugh, staring back at him as his thumb drew the familiar pattern on the screen. He wondered if he should call Linda. Time and time again he had been about to, but he had stopped himself each time, not wanting to scare his future mother in law by telling her that her daughter had been shot, but he didn’t really know anything. Jon had told him to better wait until they knew something, and Strike was more inclined to agree.

Vanessa was on the phone. Her soft voice echoed full of calmness but also firmness, relying orders to her subordinates to try and find out who had done this and why.

“They detained the car in Tower Bridge, Robin’s description was flawless as usual,” said Vanessa once she finally hung up, turning to Strike, who was ashen with worry. “They have arrested the four suspects, three men who had initially exited the car to try and surprise Robin, and the driver, and Wardle’s going to take over interrogation while I stay here until we know Robin’s okay. She was talking and already providing wonderful testimony Corm, she can’t be more than a bit roughed up. She’s a tough woman.”

“I will believe she’s okay when I see she’s okay.”

As if the universe had heard them, Dr Ramoray Hunt, a middle-aged blonde trauma surgeon who had been with them hours before to let them know Robin was being taken to the theatre, reappeared, looking tired but satisfied, with his white coat pristine on him.

“Mr Strike, I’m happy to say surgery went very well,” said the doctor with a rough deep voice. “Ms Ellacott was shot in the upper left arm, luckily avoiding major arteries and tendons, organs such as the lungs, or delicate bones like ribs or clavicle. She has a severe humerus fracture and the deltoid has been damaged, but we were able to put some pins screws to hold her arm together, and to repair her deltoid. That said, it’s going to be a long and painful recovery, three months in a cast, working with a physiotherapist starting in a couple of weeks to make sure that it all heals nicely and that the rest of the arm doesn’t get atrophied from the long time immobilized. She’s a bit pale from the blood loss, and bruised up, bit scratched here and there from being run over, and got a mild concussion, but luckily she avoided major injury by throwing herself to the garden around the building she was walking by. She’s already waking up with the anaesthesiologist, gonna be out of it for a while because of the medication and painkillers, but we’ll keep her in observation twenty-four hours and then she can go home and continue her recovery. Work, even, if she feels up to it and as long as she’s physically resting.”

“Fuck, thank you,” Strike blurted out the curse word in relief, and the doctor snorted a laugh. “Can I go with her?”

“Yeah, if you come with me…”

“You guys go home, I’ll stay with her,” said Strike, turning to the others. “Vanessa, would you please take Jon and Henry wherever they need to be? I was going to drive them, but…”

“Sure, no problem,” Vanessa nodded. “Tell her we got the bastards.”

“And give her our love,” added Lucy.

“See you soon Corm,” Henry gave him a quick hug and the group left.

Robin was high in painkillers, enjoying the drug trip of her lifetime, with her arm immobilized and resting on her bed, in a room shared with an empty bed next to her. The anaesthesiologist was clearing out as Strike arrived, and he smiled softly at his fiancée when he saw her. Robin’s forehead was bruised up and she had a gauze on her temple and no doubt, bruises on her knees at the very least, but she looked mostly fine, and managed a smile for Strike as he came over and kissed her.

“We have to quit having hospital dates,” she murmured drowsily. Strike nodded, kissing her cheek and feeling relief wash over him each time he touched her. “I’m sorry for interrupting your reunion.”

“It’s fine, Henry’s a great guy and he and Lucy came too. And Jon and Vanessa, they’ve all just left. They send their love,” said Strike. “And Vanessa said Wardle’s interrogating the people who did this to you, they’re under arrest.”

“That’s efficient.”

“Must be our efficiency is rubbing up on them, sharing so many hours,” joked Strike, caressing her cheek. “How do you feel?”

Robin snorted a laugh.

“Like when I was nineteen and smoking pot in University, only better. These drugs are _good_. It’s like being on a cloud.” He chuckled.

“I know right?” he squeezed her right hand softly. She had a couple IV lines and an ugly hospital gown, but still he thought she was beautiful as ever. “Let me know if you’re in pain or anything.” Strike cupped her face with one hand and she smiled, leaning into it.

“You know I found the most beautiful wedding dress in the world?” said Robin with a drunken voice.

“Yeah?”

“And I didn’t even look at the price tag,” she sniggered. “Because Rokeby’s paying!” she laughed more, high on drugs. Strike smirked.

“I know you are going to be the most gorgeous bride in the world. You already are the most stunning, out-standing fiancée.”

“I know,” Robin closed her eyes, leaning her face against his hand. “I always feel beautiful when you look at me. I’m a pretty big deal, right?” she looked up at him. “I’m smart, and funny, and pretty, and wickedly talented, and I’m a good person. You got a good deal.”

“Yeah,” Strike agreed, nodding. “I’m clearly the one who’s winning more with this marriage,” he joked. “Want to sleep the high away?”

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

“Of course. And I’ll call your Mum and let her know we had a scare but all is good.”

“Okay,” Robin nodded. “I love you Cormoran. I thought I wasn’t gonna get to say it again for a minute back there.”

“Hey,” Strike grabbed a stool and sat to see her eye to eye, holding her hand. “I would never let that happen. If you hadn’t phoned me, you still told me where you were going and I was about to text you, next I would’ve called Jon and gotten him to look around the flat while I get there and he would’ve found you. And we have a load of neighbours, dogs in the area… someone would’ve found you on time. Hell knowing you, perhaps you would’ve rested for a moment and then gotten back up and driven yourself to the hospital like it’s no big deal,” he joked with a warm smile, and she giggled drowsily. “But I love you too. And I’ll always have your back.”

“Me too,” Robin squeezed his hand, closing her eyes. “I’ll take a little nap now.”

“Good. You get sweet dreams, and I’ll watch over you. Nobody’s touching you again.”

  
  



	20. Patience

**Chapter 20: Side tackle.**

The next morning, Strike had to leave Robin to get to the office and reorganize their clients and rota so that Robin could rest at home for a few days and he could be at home more often to look after her, since she was going to have to do everything single-handedly, which isn’t easy, not to mention the pain she’d be in. So Ilsa and Henry volunteered to stay with Robin, who was already in quite the pain now that they couldn’t keep her so high on painkillers. Jon had been over during the night, but had a lot of work in the morning to be with his sister, if other people were available and it wasn’t urgent.

Strike had only just left the pharmacy with some things for Robin that they’d need at home, to clean her wound and keep her as comfortable as possible, when he turned into the parking lot where he had left his car and he sensed someone was following him. He slowed his pace, sharpening his attention to sound and detecting steps rushing behind him. Pulling out his phone, he turned around pretending to be consulting a map and checking for directions, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a dark-hooded figure stop in his tracks. He resumed walking towards his car then, and the other figure continued as well, so Strike decided to set them up. He put the pharmacy bag on the boot of another parked vehicle and knelt, pretending to be tying up his shoes. He had been using his new leg for a week, and felt more confident with confrontations, because it was much more comfortable than his previous leg, adjusted much better, and was good even for soft jogging or playing basketball for short times with Nick. He was doing things with his new leg he never would have thought he’d do again after the amputation.

Just as he knelt, as he suspected the steps rushed and then a man’s voice came up.

“Stand up, slowly. I’m armed.”

The voice was new and rough, and Strike automatically knew he was being pointed at with a gun not too different from the one that had born a hole in Robin’s arm.

“You should know you’re terrible at following people, and I texted DI Wardle of the Met before when I turned around to check you out. Police is coming, a ton of people know where I am, and chances are the pharmacy camera caught you,” said Strike, slowly standing up. “So kill me, but you’ll go to prison and it’ll be for nothing, because Robin Ellacott is still alive, you only grazed her arm. She’ll testify, and so will a bunch of other people including the police.”

“No she isn’t,” the guy said in denial.

“No?” Strike pointed at the pharmacy bag, his back still turned to the attacker. “Then why am I buying gauze, alcohol and painkillers if it’s not for her would aftercare?”

“Turn around. I want to see you when I kill you.” Strike turned around, and saw the man had a balaclava and dark gloves, plus a dark hoodie. The gun was pointed at Strike’s face.

“Are you sure?” inquired Strike calmly, seeing the nerves in the dark eyes. “Are the Gillespies paying you enough to bail you out of prison? Because it’s life for murder and with both Peter Gillespie and Whittaker there for life…”

“Shut up!” the arm with the gun trembled. Strike took a step forward, and the hand holding the gun shook again. The attacker was clearly young and inexperienced, and had never taken a life. He was too nervous to shoot him.

“I’m a decorated veteran with friends in the Met, and they’re already coming. They will find you, boy. And then?”

He saw the hesitation in the young boy’s eyes and Strike quickly hit his wrist, making the weapon fall, before elbowing the attacker in the nose. A crack, a yelp and blood indicated the nose was now broken, and the attacker tried to run, but Strike kicked at his knee and he fell down. Strike had had to give up his guns after retiring, but he had kept his handcuffs, which he often brought with himself, so when the youth fell to the ground, Strike was ready to handcuff him. However, the other man was younger and faster, and he quickly recovered and lounged at Strike, so that the detective’s back collided against the ground with a thud, the other man on top, his fist bruising Strike’s cheek before Strike nailed a punch to his throat and then pulled off his balaclava, exposing a pale-faced youngster with the hair completely shaven, tattooed neck, and thick, big eyebrows over little dark eyes, the inferior part of the face covered in blood emanating from a purple nose.

The punch in the throat made the youngest of them lose his breath for a second and recoil, and then Strike kneed him in the groin, and managed to handcuff him.

“Grab this,” Strike put on his plastic gloves for evidences, and grabbed the balaclava, putting it in the man’s hands. “Use it to help control the bleeding.” Strike shoved him in the back of his car, grabbed the pharmacy bag and the weapon, and set them both in the copilot seat before sitting at the wheel. “You’re under civilian’s arrest, say hi to prison for attempted murder and assault, uh?”

As it turns out, Wardle agreed with Strike that the reason Robin and Strike had received poorly planned, desperate attempts of murder under plain daylight in such a brief space of time was that somehow Peter Gillespie, perhaps using his lawyer, had gotten Whittaker’s men to run and try to eliminate Robin and Strike before they could testify come May, and instead they had only just provided more evidence, because the inexpert attackers arrested the previous afternoon had already, under pressure of ending in prison for life, confessed to be working under Whittaker and Gillespie’s orders.

“We have two patrols frequently driving around your flat in Vauxhall, checking for anything odd, and a cop in the hospital corridor for Robin’s room,” Wardle told Strike while he iced his bruised cheek with a can of coke as they walked out of the Met building. “How’s Robin holding up?”

“She’s in pain, but she’s a tough one,” said Strike. “She’s not going to back down.”

Wardle smirked, nodding.

“You’re marrying a feisty one. Tell her I keep her in my thoughts, okay?”

“Yeah,” Strike nodded. “Well, thanks Wardle, I’m going to head out, she’ll be wondering where I’ve been.”

It was raining like hell when Strike made it to the hospital, so he hurried inside and to Robin’s bedroom in the fourth floor. He was quite late, had had a lunch sandwich on the way before he was already missing lunch, and Robin was probably wondering where he was.

Every time he entered a hospital, Strike’s mind filled with a smell of institutionalized cleanliness, disinfectant and something else he couldn’t quite pinpoint, all of which filled his brain with images of a past time, when he had spent months at Selly Oak recovering from being blown up and losing his leg. Generally this made him practically allergic to hospitals, but now, with Robin waiting for him tired and in pain, and not liking hospitals any more than he did, Strike felt like he couldn’t bear himself to be away from the hated place for too much, and like his effort was compensated every time he crossed through the spotless white tiled corridor and arrived into Robin’s little cosy room, where to his surprise, his bride-to-be sat on a dark green armchair, arm in a cast and a blanket around her, examining photographs Vanessa was showing her from a chair next to her. Nick, Ilsa and Henry had apparently hit it off nicely and were talking animatedly on the little sofa on the other side of the bed, where Strike had slept that night. He had used Rokeby’s money to get Robin a nicer room in the VIP wing of the hospital, where she wouldn’t have to share, even if she’d only be there one more night.

“Hi, you okay?” Robin looked up at her. She had a shadow of pain across her face, but was putting up a tough facade. “Eric called Vanessa while she was here to tell her what happened. Ouch, your cheek’s purple…”

“It’s fine, it’ll heal in time for the wedding,” Strike hung his coat over the feet board of the bed and sat on the very edge of the vacated bed after kissing Robin. “Broke his nose, I’m completely fine. He was very amateur, and not as smart as your guys to use a car.”

“Honestly I doubt they’ll attack again,” said Vanessa, and showed Strike the mugshots she had been showing Robin. “Robin identified everyone we arrested, and apparently they’re from Whittaker’s old clan. We’re now investigating his lawyer and Gillespie’s lawyer to try and see if they coordinated the order of attacks, but seeing how ridiculously bad they are… I think they’ll give up now.”

“They better,” said Strike. “Robin’s little brother’s staying with us, got to keep him safe.”

“Why are they going after you?” asked Henry, confused. “I mean the police has everything they need, right? With or without you testifying, those two will go to prison.”

“Perhaps they think our testimonies are key even when they aren’t,” said Robin with a sigh. “Anyway, love, why don’t you go charm my doctor so he lets me go already uh? I’ve been here twenty-four hours, I don’t see why I can’t leave until the morning and frankly what difference is a few hours going to do? If I can’t work I’d much rather be in my own pyjamas, on our own sofa, browsing wedding music.”

“You heard Dr Hunt miss, they want to make sure your brain’s good to go,” reminded Nick with knowing eyes, and Strike nodded.

“Sorry love, I’m not risking it. But it’s just a few more hours, and you can get better than Paracetamol here, which is a plus, uh?”

Robin puffed, looking up at Strike.

“Have you actually forgotten hospitals, or you’re just lying to try and convince me it’s not so bad?”

Strike snorted a laugh.

“In the bright side, we have dinner at Lucy’s on Sunday to celebrate Henry’s arrival, his girlfriend’s coming and someone else will cook a bunch of food and you won’t have to move a finger.”

“What?” Robin raised her eyebrows, getting first news and looking around at Henry. “I see you’ve charmed the family quickly!” she half smiled, and he giggled.

“Couldn’t say no, Lucy seems like such a wonderful person.”

“That’s when her husband and sons aren’t around,” Strike commented. “Then she becomes about as pleasing as a hurricane.”

“Oh you’re terrible!” Ilsa chastised him while Robin and Nick laughed, cradling her belly. “Don’t listen to your brute brother, she’s okay. She’s just reached the overprotective grandma stage early.”

“Fuck don’t make me laugh, it hurts,” Robin said laughing harder and holding onto her arm to try and not see stars.

Henry chuckled, looking at his newfound family and finding that after all, it was well worth the wait.

The next morning, Strike finally drove Robin home, helped her carefully bathe, put her pyjamas on, and snuggled her on the sofa, spending several days just cuddling, cooking for her, and treating her like a princess. The pain often woke Robin up, after putting her through a nightmare or two, so she was often tired and a bit moody, but when they finally left the flat to visit Bromley and they met Rebecca, Henry’s wonderful girlfriend, she seemed to cheer up a little. It was interesting to, after spending years so distanced from Strike’s personal life, now be such a big part of it, introduced as his fiancée and getting to consider his family her own family, like when Lucy had secretly given her the receipt for the famous Nancarrow biscuits, a family receipt that actually came from Joan.

Truth was that even in the rough times, as the days passed and Robin spent more time dating Strike, living with him and knowing the new sides of him, those that made him a romantic, loving, charismatic, gentle, and sweet partner in life, she found herself more and more in love with her, and found that time with him seemed to pass in a blur because they were always having fun, even if it was just with her lying down with her head on his lap as he caressed her face and read her  _Catullus_ . She had loved Cormoran the detective, she loved Cormoran the best friend, and even Cormoran the drunk and pissed off, and grumpy Cormoran, but now she realized that she also wholeheartedly loved Cormoran the gentleman ry fiancé.

Winter led to Spring, which led to Jack’s birthday in April, and Robin enjoyed being called Auntie and seeing him play around the garden in his new soldier uniform with a fake gun, ‘from Uncle Corm and Aunt Robin’ after a whole morning fighting her way to recovery in physiotherapy. Her left hand felt quite numb, she was still in a cast, and she was still in pain too frequently, even if she was back at work.

“Patience,” Michelle Greenstreet told her one day in the office as Robin tried stretching her fingers and winced in pain, “it’ll come back. Give it time, at least you won’t be Mr and Mrs Amputee.”

The closer the 7 th of May came, the more sleepless and nervous Robin found herself. She knew she was supposed to be the golden witness, because the defence, the judge and the jury didn’t know she had been fully implicated in the investigation from day one and wouldn’t expect for her to have her answers so well prepared, but she also felt like if something was fucked up and Gillespie and Whittaker got away, it’d be all her fault, and the pressure was asphyxiating. It was the last chance they had, and if they failed, chances were that although there hadn’t been more attacks, Gillespie would send the cavalry to kill her and Strike once he was released from prison. Truth was, even though Robin had confidently testified with a minor importance role for other investigations they had had, the fact that this was a huge family thing affected her enormously, and made her frequently have nightmares of the most traumatizing trial she could remember, the one in which her rapist had ended up getting a life sentence,  but not without putting her through hours in which his lawyer had done everything in his power to make everyone see her as a whore who had lured her attacker in, who had wanted to be roughly fucked in a stairwell, choked.

A fter a particularly bad nightmare, in which Leda Strike had interrupted Trewin’s trial, in a ghostly shape, to kneel at Robin’s feet and, suddenly becoming a zombie, cry ‘It’s all your fault’, until she woke up, Robin found herself gasping for air sitting up in her bed in the dark bedroom. She next registered the pain in her arm and gasped, reaching for it. Strike was snoring away. The poor thing had woken up nearly every time she had, because he could be quite the light sleeper in times of tension, but he was so exhausted after weeks of being woken up unintentionally by Robin multiple times, that this time he remained asleep.

C lenching her jaw to keep herself from grunting in pain, Robin got up and rushed for the kitchen to take two pills of Paracetamol and a glass of water, before flopping on the sofa. Slowly, they had turned their flat, which was virtually empty when they had first arrived, into a homey space, painting it, replacing the wasted carpeting for a new one, and bringing in new and second-hand furniture in pretty neat state, including a large chaise longue dark blue sofa in their white sitting room, on which she snuggled with a blanket, the light turned on. She had gotten Strike to consent to put some decorations to make things more homey, so n ow they had some Cornwall and Yorkshire paintings on the walls, and some family photographs on the large bookshelf filled with books that ranged from Greek history and Latin, to psychology, investigative techniques, and horses.

Robin was trying to calm her racing heart. It was hours before the first session of the trial,  she ought to rest,  but the memory of the way she had been made to look like a criminal in Trewin’s case by the cross examination was still too fresh in her memory.

“Robin?” Strike’s figure stood in the threshold. Robin often found Strike the most endearing like that, with his hair a mess more extraordinary than usual, and his expression numb with sleep, in his t-shirt and long pyjama trousers. “We have to be up in four hours, what’s going on?” he asked softly. “Another nightmare?”

“Yeah… go back to sleep, love. I’m fine.”

Strike seemed to think about it for a beat longer than usual due to his tiredness, and Robin almost felt like laughing, as his face briefly resembled that of a confused, gigantic Saint Bernard,  before he walked over to her and sat next to her, looking softly at her.

“Why are you so worried? Vanessa and Eric are incredibly confident, you seemed quite confident before too…”

“I know, it’s just… I know we have everything, I know the investigation is diamond solid, but…” Robin sighed. “You know even in situations like this it takes one stupid mistake to completely discredit a witness, and with it, half the case is fucked. I’m worried the cross examination will be so tough, as it will undoubtedly be, that my confidence and resolve will melt, I’ll fuck it up, and I’ll become a laughable clown and the jury stops listening to me, because nobody knows more about this case than I do.”

“You’ve always done well in cross examinations.”

“None was as personal and major as this one,” said Robin. “And in none had so much pressure fallen on my shoulders. I can’t stop dreaming of Trewin’s trial, the cross examination was pure torture…”

Strike pondered his thoughts before taking her hand in his and looking into her eyes.

“Robin, it will be okay. Look, even if you falter… we would understand. Nobody would be angry at you. First, I don’t know as much about things, but I know you guys have done things so well I seriously don’t think you screwing the cross examination would affect the sentence in the slightest. Gillespie is being accused of plotting to kill two people, accessory to murder, illegal drug appropriation and a bunch of other things, and Whittaker is facing first degree murder with the aggravation that Mum was his wife, plotting to double murder… and we have six people arrested for attempting to murder us who claim they were hired by Whittaker. And we have done trial simulations with Ilsa, I highly doubt just your cross examination would get them out of the deep shit they’ve sunk themselves in. And secondly, say after all of this they still got away… Robin, Ted, Lucy, Henry and I would still be insanely grateful for you. How can we be anything but thankful when you have worked so hard, tried so hard, coming here while not fully recovered from the last attack, working night and day restlessly, and when before you nobody had so clearly provided the evidence we needed? Until you came around, I was never taken seriously when I said Whittaker had done it, now our people have no doubts about what happens. You gave us the truth, no matter if a jury recognizes it, you gave us that and nothing can take that away. We’ll be mad at the system that lets them free, and then we will appeal, we won’t give up, but getting pissed at you? Never.”

R obin sighed deeply, looking down at their joined hands, feeling a knot in her throat.

“But I don’t want to ridicule myself like that. And I don’t want to disappoint your Mum, or anyone else who believes in me so wholeheartedly.”

“You won’t disappoint no one, and you won’t ridicule myself. Look, Lucy struggles with testifying too, and Al, and so many others but… at the end of the day we have to remember everyone is doing the best we can, and sometimes no matter how good we are, we still lose. But the truth always comes out, sooner and later, and you’ve brought us closer than ever. Robin, we will get them, I’m sure,” Strike reassured her. “We believe in you because as low as your self esteem is, we have _seen_ how good you are, and the sun is still the sun even when she doesn’t realize, okay? Look at yourself through our eyes, you’re a rock-star! That’s what Mum would say. She could never be disappointed on you, Robin… she would say it’s a man’s thing to make a woman see herself as less than she is, but it’s on a woman’s intelligence to not let themselves be defined by some idiot.”

Robin snorted a laugh and Strike smiled.

“You really can’t conceive my flunking, can’t you?”

“I really can’t,” Strike kissed her hand. “Look, you don’t need to be the best in the world, just be better than them. That’s not so hard, isn’t it? If you think about it… all they have is money, that makes them feel powerful and entitled, but it’s only because those rats are used to walking around pretending to be a hyena. You are a real hyena, you don’t need to fake it, and you don’t need a bunch of money in your pocket to believe it, not when your history speaks for itself. Just go out there and dismantle their act, make everyone seen them for what they truly are, just a bunch of rats with a bowtie. Just like you did with Charlotte.”

Robin smiled warmly at him.

“And if I begin to panic?”

“Then you look across the room and find my eyes. I will be right there, okay? We’re not in a separate room this time, because we’re so many. You look at me, and forget everyone else, just answer the questions like you’re talking to me.”

“Okay,” Robin nodded. “I think I can do that.”

“I _know_ you can,” Strike kissed her softly. “Come to bed? I’ll try to keep your nightmares away.”

Robin let him pull her back to bed, and once she was comfortable, which wasn’t easy with her arm, Strike wrapped a strong arm around her waist, and kissed her cheek.

“I love you no matter what, okay? I’m your husband. That’s not going to change.”

“Okay,” Robin nodded, pecking his lips. “Thanks for everything, Strike. I needed that pep talk.”

He smiled and turned the light off, nuzzling into her neck. She leaned against his face and closed her eyes, focusing on the feel of him around her, and letting his soothing presence bring her back to sleep.

  
  



	21. Chess time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you always for the support and your comments, which are always, even if they're only emojis or short things, very much valued and appreciated and keep my work in AO3 going.

**Chapter 21: Chess time.**

**[A/N: I have tried to keep court as realistic as possible, watching some videos and trying to figure out how the courts in England work without being from the UK (albeit UK resident), but still I’m sure there will be many inaccuracies, because ultimately I cared more about the story, the drama and all than nothing else. Apologizes for these inaccuracies and don’t be cruel; this is a FREE fanfic, we do what we can.]**

Robin had always known the trial would be a big deal nationally because Leda was a 70s legend, Rokeby was super famous, and Gillespie was very well-known in his field nationally, not to mention Strike’s own fame and hers, but still she was caught by surprise when, arriving to court, they saw the amount of journalists and cameras that were there. Had it been the same, she wondered, in Leda’s first death trial? Probably not, since there wasn’t social media then to call the masses. But the presence of their family and support group was most encouraging, even when attendance was strictly limited at Inner London Crown Court. Lucy and Strike were testifying as indirect victims and witnesses, providing evidence of the troubled relationship that existed between Whittaker and Leda, and of how dangerous Whittaker is. Strike also had to speak of his own relationship to Jonny Rokeby and Peter Gillespie. Ted, Greg, and Henry, who by then had met everyone, were there to support. Robin, Michelle and Vanessa testified as the three most directly implicated in the investigation, and Robin’s parents had come to offer support too. Al Rokeby had to speak about Rokeby and Gillespie’s relationship. And in the next few sessions, at least two or three more, another dozen witnesses, including ex-squatters, ex-criminals and accountants, would testify as well. Even today, depending on how long things ran, it was possible some people’s testimonies would be moved to other days. To the extensive group they already were also added Nick and Ilsa, who seemed not to be concerned about the high chances of going into labour in court, since she was at eight months and twins were often premature.

“I told them they’re not allowed to go out yet, so they’re not going anywhere,” said Ilsa simply, when Robin remarked her insanity coming. “It’s Leda we’re talking about, I’m not going to miss this. It’s enough of a shame I couldn’t be the prosecutor with this pregnancy, I would’ve enjoyed frying them.”

She looked beautiful in her dark blue dress and black jacket, and walked around the court hall like it was her bedroom. The lawyer was by far the most at ease there from all of them.

One last pep talk from the prosecution barrister, and they would be entering the courtroom, Robin, who had slept quite little in the last month and counted on make-up to look presentable, being ready to throw up.

“You are a rock star,” said Strike adjusting her sling, calm and confident in his dark suit. “Go get them, hyena.”

“Am I a hyena rock star?” Robin asked with a small smile, nervous.

“You can be anything you set yourself to be, you’re Robin Ellacott,” said Strike matter-of-fact, and Robin felt a special warmth inside at his words.

“You’re right, I’m Robin Ellacott. Let’s go give those bastards a piece of their own medicine.”

Robin was absolutely stunned by how Strike, the first to testify  after the case was thoroughly presented for over half an hour , was all calm and collected, as if he had taken some sort of drug. He was so calm he’d even stare into Whittaker’s eyes fearlessly as he spoke, which made Robin’s nerves diminish as she observed, inspired by his faith in her, confidence and courage. It also helped that both Whittaker and Gillespie, as nice as they looked in their suits, seemed to have been brutally affected by their time in pre-trial detention, both looking skinnier and older.  Lucy squeezed her hand, sitting next to her, and Robin squeezed back, a silent way of exchanging strength and cheering each other up.

“Mr Strike, what’s your relationship to the victim, Leda Strike, and the defendants?” the prosecution asked first.

“I’m Leda Strike’s firstborn, son of her and Jonny Rokeby, for whom Gillespie worked. Whittaker was my step-father after his marriage to my mother in the 92, and Gillespie was the man my father tasked with the finances regarding first my child support and afterwards in my adulthood, a loan my father gave me,” said Strike simply.

“What’s your account of Jeff Whittaker’s relationship with your mother and yourself?”

“In all honesty, to me Jeff Whittaker was always, and always will be, one of the most despicable beings I’ll ever have the disgrace to meet,” replied Strike. “He charmed my Mum, who admittedly was easy to charm, with bad self-composed songs and pretending to be a romantic, misunderstood composer, and my Mum bought it, but I never did. To me, he was always a drug addict, a criminal, a man who the moment my Mum turned around would enjoy bullying my little sister and myself, and then go out on the streets with his gang to deal with drugs and terrorize others. I have no doubt he abused women, and that he was only with my Mum because he thought she was rich, so he always tried to get on her good side after fights so she wouldn’t kick him out of _our_ residence. But I can’t count the amount of times I have had to threaten him so he wouldn’t hurt my sister or even my mother, and the amount of times my Mum has had to intervene before we got into a physical fight, because I was the main obstacle preventing him from manipulating and using my family and our home at his will, and from crossing a line with the violence, verbal and physical, he showed to my family and myself.”

“Why do you think he thought your mother was rich?”

“Because Whittaker knew she received child support from my father, Jonny, and my sister’s father, Rick Fantoni, both very famous musicians at the time, more so Rokeby, and both quite full of money. Whittaker was always asking my mother for more money, making tantrums saying if she didn’t pay this guitar he wanted, or give him the money he wanted, meant that she didn’t love him. He never believed it when she kept telling him she didn’t have the money, which was true, because our fathers only paid enough for my sister and I’s survival, and our mother was terrible at managing money, so even when between that and her many jobs we could’ve been… low middle class, we were always ridiculously poor. But Whittaker always fought with her because she wouldn’t give him more money, always believing she was hiding a secret fortune. Pretty sure he married her just because he thought then he’d have access to it all.”

“Twenty years ago when Mr Whittaker was first judged for your mother’s murder, you testified his greed and pure malice as the motives why he would want your mother dead. Do you still think this was the case?”

Strike sighed, thoughtful, and his eyes briefly sought Robin’s.

“I think that was ultimately what pushed Whittaker to kill her, and to try to kill me, for what it’s just been exposed at the presentation from the recent investigation. I think Jeff Whittaker is a violent psychopath incapable of feeling love or affection, filled with rage, who only wishes for money and fame, one of the greediest, most selfish men I’ve known, and that therefore that’s all it would take to push him to murder. But now in addition to that, I think Peter Gillespie, who according to a paternity test acquired by the police, and to the testimony of Sir Randolph Whittaker, is his biological father, could have easily pressured him further, convincing him with mine and my mother’s deaths he’d have free reign and full access to our apparent secret fortune. And because my sister had moved out by then, scared by Whittaker, I think they forgot to notice that even if we were secretly rich, which we weren’t, and even if both my Mum and I were dead, my sister would get half the money and the other half would probably go to our younger brother, Whittaker’s then two year old son, as both were minors at the time. But I suppose Whittaker, who was never particularly bright in my experience, was too blinded by his madness to see Gillespie was feeding him lies and he would never get a penny, if there had been anything to get.”

“Why would Mr Whittaker want you dead?”

“As I said, he hates my guts. His favourite thing to do at the time was draw his finger across his throat as in slitting a throat motion, while glaring at me or whoever had pissed him off, and shout ‘you’ll get yours’. The fact that in the past two months both my fiancée and I have been attacked and nearly killed by men who admitted to do so under his orders, and that the police found plenty of evidence that he planned to murder me with an overdose after my Mum, should be enough for anyone to see he really wants me dead.”

“A part of our case sustains on the presumed fact that Mr Gillespie ordered both deaths, why would he do so, do you think?”

“I think my Mum was collateral damage for him. I think he wanted to get rid of me, because at the time I had just had an argument with my father and Gillespie at my father’s office, because I had turned eighteen a year before which granted me access to all the child support money that Gillespie had frozen so my Mum couldn’t spend it for years, and afterwards been admitted to Oxford and afterwards, in the summer of 1994 months before my Mum was killed, I decided to tell Rokeby to shove his money up his… you know,” said Strike with a vague shrug. “At the time I was furious at Rokeby because I saw him as a pathetic bastard who had abandoned me and my mother, and I wanted none of his money and angrily told him to keep it. Gillespie always acted, particularly after I became a decorated veteran years later, as if Rokeby’s reputation was key to his own success, which it was, in a way, and saw me as someone who after that fight could go to the press, tell them the shit Rokeby was, and make Rokeby and in consequence Gillespie, lose everything, let’s not forget all the evidence collected by the police about the money Gillespie took secretly from Rokeby, as it’s been just explained. I had become a problem, Gillespie needed me out of the way, and he knew getting Whittaker to do it and then getting him life in prison for it so he wouldn’t be getting Gillespie’s money again, would be the best way of hitting two birds with one stone. But to convince Whittaker to do such a thing he had to use money, and then it became obvious that for that plan to work, Mum also had to die. Besides, Gillespie didn’t like my Mum, she was… a fighter. Caused him trouble sometimes because of the shit Rokeby was to me. Unfortunately in the end I lived, and my Mum ended up killed leaving three children motherless.”

“And just so it’s clear there was really no secret money, how much did you get in inheritance?”

“Nothing. Debt, because we had to bury her with close to no money, my uncle paid that, and some personal belongings, clothes we threw away and some, very few items which only had sentimental value, like cheap jewellery for my sister, a couple books, photographs. Cheap stuff with purely sentimental value for us. And my mother’s youngest child, who was two, got nothing whatsoever because we lost his custody to Randolph Whittaker. As a matter of fact, my sister and I spent a few years struggling from having nothing to trying to build successful careers and adult lives from scratch, and that required her to take a part time job in the afternoons from the age of fifteen, and me to quit Oxford and enlist. No secret fortunes anywhere.”

R obin turned to look at Henry, who looked stoic and focused, eyes fixed alternatively on Strike and Whittaker, who Robin was fairly sure he had never seen so up close.

“Mr Strike, in your written testimony it says your leg was blown-up eight years ago this month in Afghanistan, and that later you contacted your father, Jonny Rokeby, for a loan Peter Gillespie managed. What can you tell us about that?”

“Yes, well,” Strike cleared his voice, focused. “When my leg was blown-up I didn’t draw any fat military pensions, and as much as I was offered desk jobs within the army, I had decided I was too much of an action man to stand that sort of job, which in consequence meant that once I had gone through six months in hospital plus the few weeks I needed to walk again with a prosthesis, I had nothing. No jobs, not many savings left, not even a house, I moved into my then girlfriend’s apartment. I had always loved investigative work more than anything so naturally decided to open an agency, but found no bank would give me a loan, and I couldn’t accept money from friends and family. Rokeby had used Gillespie to contact me several times offering me the money he’d given me for child support when I was a minor, which he still kept in a separate account. Out of pride and due to my hostility towards Rokeby I had refused, but when I realized I had no choice, I accepted under the condition that it would be a loan. So on September 2008, my agency opened with that loan, but then business wasn’t immediately sailing, didn’t have publicity, no clients coming, none that paid well. So eighteen months later I was homeless, living in my office, about to be evicted, had nothing, and Gillespie had spent eighteen months harassing me to pay the loan back, even when Rokeby had said there was no rush, it was Gillespie’s own greed and avarice, per my own father’s words later in time when I could talk to him about it, as said in my written testimony. Anyway, then I got the Landry case, followed by the Quine case… those allowed for me to start paying the loan back, and eventually by late 2011 I had Gillespie off my back, once the loan was fully paid back.”

“He was harassing you to return a loan of a money that was legally yours, that was only a loan because you wanted it to be, and that its provider, Mr Rokeby, wasn’t in a hurry to get back, for several years?”

“Yeah. You can ask Ms Ellacott about it when she testifies, she came to work for me right before we got the Landry case, she was my assistant, and for her first year as my employee she attended hundreds of calls and received dozens of messages from Gillespie demanding his money. So you see it’s not just my word.”

“Did you ever had any type of contact with either Mr Gillespie or Mr Whittaker since?”

“Not with Gillespie, today is the first time I’m seeing him since I was eighteen, actually. I didn’t see him when my leg got blown up, we only spoke via technologies,” explained Strike, refusing to use the word ‘Mr’. “I did, however, see Whittaker I’d say in…” he puffed, thoughtful. “Must have been 2011, definitely before that July. I was investigating the Shacklewell Ripper case and he became one of my suspects, so both Ms Ellacott and I encountered him in different moments.” Robin wondered then if when she sat to testify, Whittaker would recognize her.

“Did you talk with him?”

“I punched him,” Strike admitted.

“You _punched_ him? Did he attack you?” asked the prosecutor surprised.

“He was hurting a young girl, I tried to take her to a women’s refuge, to keep her safe, but he had her drugged and she was… well, as it often happen with women who suffer abuse, they tend to cling to their abuser. I punched Whittaker because I was trying to defend her, but he’s not stupid, he doesn’t have what it takes to try to punch _me_. I’m three times more corpulent and stronger, specially now he’s old.”

R obin heard Lucy snort a laugh under her breath and she tried to hide a smirk with about the same level of success.

“Mr Whittaker was hurting a young woman. Is this the first time you’ve seen him be physically aggressive with a woman?”

“I wish,” said Strike. “No, he grabbed my Mum sometimes, shook her, pushed her, or grabbed her hard, and she slapped him once because he got too rough for her unbelievable patience. And he did it to my sister too. But he always stopped as soon as he saw me come around, he always threatened me but never had the balls to go for me because I started boxing when I was twelve, and by the time he came into our lives I was already seventeen, fit, strong and his height. The only reason I didn’t kick him out myself was because my Mum stupidly fell in love with the bastard and I didn’t want to hurt her.”

“The sister you refer to is Mrs Lucy Everton née Fantoni, just so the jury knows, right?”

“Yes, we grew up together. She was given her father’s surname because he was around, and my Mum gave me hers because mine didn’t even want to accept my parenthood until we did a DNA test.”

“All right. One more thing, Mr Strike. Can you describe to the jury and judges in this room what took place in the last few months, for your fiancée Ms Robin Ellacott to stablish communication with Mr Rokeby and initiate the investigation that’s brought us all here today?”

“Sure,” said Strike, and cleared his throat again. “It all started over a year ago, actually. I had never had any relationship with Rokeby, but my brother Al Rokeby was always insisting our father wanted to reconnect, that I should make an effort, and over a year ago, he started trying to convince me to go to the Deadbets anniversary event, be there to celebrate our father with all our siblings. He began texting me and calling me non-stop, then our sister Prudence joined in and then even Rokeby himself contacted me at some point. Eventually, they told me Rokeby had prostate cancer, that’s why it was a special thing and they wanted me there, but I had no relationship with Rokeby, I didn’t like him, I didn’t want to have anything to do with it, and they were annoying me and stressing me out with the constant harassing, calling, texting day and night, Al even coming to my office unannounced… it got too much, specially because at the time I was already under significant amount of distress due to a close relative in Cornwall who had cancer as well and was dying, someone I actually adored and for whom I was constantly travelling south. Anyway, after the event, the Rokebys seemed to relax, but a few months later they were back at it driving me insane, and since it happened at work too, eventually I had to tell Ms Ellacott, because at the time we were best friends, nothing more, and she’s been my partner in the agency for over three years now, and it was affecting me to the point of affecting the quality of my work,” Strike decided better not to tell he’d made Robin’s nose bleed. “Anyway, we began dating in October and by Christmas, we were the only two left at the office putting in work until Christmas Eve to give our employees early holidays. And at a point, I was alone in the office when I got an eviction notice because our building, we were in Denmark Street, was being taken down for structural issues and I was going to lose my home and my office, as both were in the same building then. I was significantly distressed, and then in entered Rokeby, insisting we should meet, and after over a year of phone harassment I had had it. I exploded and I broke his nose, I’m not proud of it, but he did catch me in the middle of an anxiety attack. And a moment later, Robin arrived, saw what I had done, helped me calm down and led Rokeby out, and he gave her his card and pleaded with her to reason with me. The actually reason why Robin ended up calling him back was because seeing me lose it made her realize their harassment was getting too much for me, because no matter how I told them I didn’t want to hear another word they kept going, and she offered to be a mediator, meet Rokeby and try to explain him he needed to stop it and leave me alone.”

“So it all started as a simple exercise of mediation from your girlfriend with your family to resolve a long-standing situation of tension and conflict, right?”

“You could say so.”

“Were you at the mediation?”

“No, I was…” Strike sighed. “I had just been told I had three weeks, over the holidays, to find a new office before I had six employees out in the street, one of whom has a toddler, another has multiple sclerosis, another’s elderly and not about to be showered in job opportunities. I was too anxious, worried and stressed thinking if I couldn’t find anything I’d lose everything I’ve been working hard for, for nearly seven years, not to mention ending up homeless again, and dragging six employees down with me. I was ready to lose my mind, not in the mood to meet with any estranged fathers, so Rob— Ms Ellacott went alone, she offered.”

“Do you know what happened there?”

“I can only imagine,” said Strike. “She was very secretive afterwards, which was most unlike her, but I would’ve trusted her with my life, so it didn’t bother me, I figured she’d tell me eventually which she did. For starters she only told me she thought I really had to meet up with Rokeby, that she thought he really wanted to do things better with me and that I’d regret it if I didn’t, so the moment we returned to London after a brief holiday break, I met with him. I trust Ms Ellacott’s judgement fully, so I didn’t have further questions.”

“What happened then?”

“That he was wonderful, my father. He was everything I had hoped he’d be, when I was a boy. I mean it didn’t fix everything automatically but…” he shrugged. “It was a start. We had a drink, talked, reconnected, found out where we were alike, our common ground. We were going to meet again but… he died unexpectedly abruptly days later, even though he was supposed to have a few months more.”

“Did he ever offer you money?”

“Well, he knew it wasn’t the way to get along with me. I never liked money talk with him because it was always this mentality that money fixes everything, and I needed for him to see that I wanted a father, not a bank loan. I didn’t want his money, and he understood at last, I guess because whatever Robin told him.”

“So you would say you were in good terms after that meeting?”

“Somewhat, yeah. I appreciated he seemed to hold unexpected but genuine affection for my mother and myself, it meant a lot to me.” He cleared his throat again, feeling a sudden knot in his throat.

“And still he didn’t tell you anything of what allegedly he told your girlfriend about Gillespie, the odd numbers in bank accounts, his relationship with Whittaker…?”

“No, no, he didn’t even hint to anything. I guess he thought bringing that up on our first good time together in my entire life would make it seem like he had only met me because he needed me, and he seemed focused on just getting to know me. We legit just had a glass of whiskey and talked football, women, that sort of thing. I even offered him a peace branch by asking him for advice about proposing to my girlfriend, showed him the ring I had bought and he encouraged me, he had liked Ms Ellacott, so I became engaged that same night after meeting with him.”

Robin smiled softly, having not known before.

“So there were absolutely no hostilities?”

“None. He even understood it was a disrespect to the family that raised me to pretend for me to just focus in him now and forget them, something Robin must’ve told him because she met him ahead of Christmas and on Christmas we were with my family in Cornwall and my uncle, who’s been my surrogate father all my life, got a thank you basket from Rokeby, which was very sweet. No, we were okay, like I said, I wanted to meet him again.”

“Were you ever aware of what Ms Ellacott was investigating in the meantime, did you have any participation in it?”

“Uh…” Strike shrugged, thoughtful. “Believe it or not, I was actually kept in the dark about everything for a long time. Like I said Ms Ellacott was very secretive, she seemed to not be focused on other important matters, started being late to things which is so unlike her, so of course I asked, but she simply told me that she was investigating something really important that had to do with Rokeby and that I’d be thankful she was doing it, and requested for me to just be patient and trust her blindly, because eventually I would know the truth, so that’s what I did, I shut up and let her do her thing. And when my father died, he gifted us a flat so we moved in together, and we managed to get an office as well, and then Ms Ellacott began to spend crazy amounts of hours in the office, locked in a room on her own, forbidding everyone from interrupting her unless it was important. That’s when I knew it was a big deal, because she’s not like that, and as much as we often work nights and weekends, we usually just take the work home not… fall asleep on a desk, like I caught her several times. But I didn’t really ever know what it was about nor had any participation in it.”

“Even when it was happening in your own office or your shared home?”

“No, she never brought it home so I wouldn’t see. I know it’s hard to believe but I just trust her like that, I didn’t need to be inquisitive, I knew she’d tell me when she was ready, with her there’s always a big reason for things and now after what I’ve heard here so far, I understand. She did the right thing, she knew I only need to smell a mystery to dig in, I can’t help myself, and I guess it had come to a point where she knew things were bigger than whatever Rokeby had tasked her with, and if I got involved, it could be used in court against us.”

“Did she tell you thinks after she and you were attacked in March?”

“Actually, now that I remember, she gave me a good hint in January when Rokeby died… well, Jonny Rokeby had given her a birthday card for my fortieth birthday which was on November. Apparently he’d wanted to give it to me in person, that’s why he had come to my office, but since I was hostile he couldn’t and he gave it to her instead, but then she wasn’t sure he had truly made it for my birthday and not to get her on his good side later, so she waited and after we came home from being with the family when we learned he had died, she gave it to me, she told me she had been investigating and that she thought he was really a good man who trusted the wrong person. She said just like my Mum had made mistakes and trusted Whittaker, he had made mistakes and trusted Gillespie, said she thought Gillespie had sabotaged our relationship, and she told me that she was going to make justice, but that I needed to trust her and not intervene because I’d compromise the legitimacy of things if it got to court. And she said I didn’t have to worry because she wasn’t getting in trouble, she was getting DI Ekwensi, with whom we had worked previously, involved. So I got a good hint there that she might be getting in dangerous places… but I trust DI Ekwensi, she’s by far one of the most competent Met I’ve met, so I figured I didn’t need to worry.”

“So you imagined there that you might be attacked?”

“Not really, I didn’t know what to think,” said Strike, making sure to stick with the slightly changed version they had to give the court to hide Robin’s full involvement. “But later on Valentine’s Day, Ms Ellacott gave me an email DI Ekwensi had sent her saying Whittaker and Gillespie were arrested and that they’d gotten the judge to reopen my Mum’s death investigation. That’s when the bomb really dropped, to put it one way. I was understandably shocked, and she told me more than she had previously. She told me how she had begun investigating this fraud thing, that Rokeby had thought Gillespie had stolen from him, she told me Rokeby told her that Gillespie was forced into retirement by him because of it, but that then she had started to have a big feeling that Gillespie had plotted my Mum’s and my own murders using Whittaker, but Ms Ellacott told me she couldn’t tell me much, that the police was dealing with her and she didn’t even know much more, and that we had to stay away or else the defence would say our high involvement invalidates the investigation because we’re Leda’s family. So I agreed I’d stay away, I thanked her, I was immensely grateful and amazed, still am. It was the best present, really. Anyway, after that when she was shot… I suspected she must know a lot and so Whittaker or Gillespie had plotted against her so she wouldn’t testify here today, and when someone almost shot me, I figured they thought I knew a lot too and didn’t want me to testify either. But nobody revealed to me more about the case, and I knew I wasn’t to ask questions, that once the trial was done with, if I had any more questions I could ask my partner once these two are in prison. It wasn’t too hard to think of something else to get distracted with a wedding on the works, you see?”

“One last thing, Mr Strike. Your mother died of a heroin overdose presumably administered by Mr Whittaker. Did she ever, to the best of your knowledge, use heroin?”

“Absolutely not. No,” said Strike firmly. “Not only she didn’t, she actively refused, specially with a toddler home. She always said nothing beat cannabis, that was all the drug she ever agreed to, she told me stories of being more adventurous in her youth and trying heroin, but she told me she despised it and had come to realize the best drug was cannabis, nothing else was worth the money. And those were her honest words, she wouldn’t even have known where to get heroin from. She was always painfully honest, never felt shame to hide anything so if she had done heroin, I would have known. She told me _everything_ , even sex things. I was her confidant.”

A fter that, a hard cross-examination by the defence focused on throwing doubt to whether it was really possible the whole investigation had been going on under Strike’s nose, and tried to make it look like he had instigated the investigation following a personal hatred for Whittaker and Gillespie, not actually looking for the truth, but Strike replied calmly and stoically, with the most sincere ignorance towards a lot of the investigation, and so Robin didn’t feel like the defence had succeeded.

Next, Michelle was called to confirm her level of involvement with the investigation, discuss Robin’s level of involvement, and confirm Strike was kept in the dark, and she stuck to the prepared version of things, so all went smoothly. Then Al was called to talk about what had occurred in the meetings with his father and his brother and sister-in-law, about Gillespie’s rocky relationship with the family, and his vague memories of Whittaker around Gillespie when he was younger, plus all the irregularities in the accountancy, and the jury seemed immediately charmed by him. Then his mother confirmed she had previously seen Whittaker and Gillespie fight and have serious arguments all through the nineties, including the time in which Leda had been killed, confirmed Gillespie’s power over her former husband’s money and the finances related to Strike, his greedy character, and that Rokeby had commented he thought Gillespie’s expenditures were weird, but that Rokeby hadn’t told her he had forced him to retire for that.

Then, it was Lucy’s turn.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you always for the support and your comments, which are always, even if they're only emojis or short things, very much valued and appreciated and keep my work in AO3 going.


	22. Playing with fire

**Chapter 22: Playing with fire.**

**[A/N: I’m making several chapters of the first trial, so if you wish to jump it go ahead.]**

Strike didn’t fancy seeing Lucy testify, and felt tense just from the act in itself, even though he was grateful that this time she was a properly grown up adult. He sat with Robin holding hands, both watching tensely. They knew Lucy was nervous.

“Mrs Everton, can you tell us how old were you when you met Mr Whittaker for the first time? So we can have an idea of who he was at the time.”

Lucy tried hard not to puff.

“Fourteen or so.”

“And you lived with your brother Cormoran and your Mum in Whitechapel, correct?”

“Yes.”

“What did you think of your mother’s new boyfriend?”

Lucy shrugged, and Strike knew it was an effort not to snort and roll her eyes.

“She never had good taste in men, I don’t remember having ever liked her boyfriends. Even my Dad, who came to visit now and then, had questioned her about them because he didn’t like his daughter being around them, but he couldn’t really afford my custody and at the time I didn’t want to leave my Mum and brother, so I stuck around. In the beginning Whittaker wasn’t horrible, an addict, but so were most people around us those days. Then, he wouldn’t leave the flat, and they’ve been dating for like days, so it was odd, Mum’s boyfriends didn’t regularly live with us. But my brother described him to a T, he was attention-seeking, greedy… pretty much stole Mum from us, was constantly pissed if attention diverged anywhere else, even to my brother and I. We’d go to school and he was slumped on the sofa shirtless doing nothing but smoking pot and maybe inhaling a line of this or that, come back and nothing had changed, even when Mum was out working day and night. And he was very cruel and deeply unpleasant. We lived in a squat, and he’d constantly been picking fights with other squatters that were kind to us, he even tried to kill a cat once just because it woke him up, and he would’ve succeeded if Corm hadn’t been around. He feared Corm, was the only one he was intimidated by, but my brother had studies, boxing… wasn’t around constantly, like any sixteen year old. And when he wasn’t around, Whittaker’s most violent and aggressive side would come up,” said Lucy, suddenly very serious. “I heard him shouting to Mum, threatening her if she didn’t give him money when he asked for it, which was often, pushing her, making her cry. He enjoyed intimidating me too, like Corm said. I’ve always been a bit of a chicken… I didn’t have the courage to stand up to him, not _back then_ ,” and as she said so, she glared threateningly at Whittaker in a way that made Strike and Robin exchange a proud smile. “He shouted at me, tried to boss me around like he was my father, walked around nude to mortify me, doing obscene and sexual gestures towards me, never with Corm in front because Corm would rip him a new one if he even saw Whittaker trying to barge into the shower while I was there or something. Then Whittaker tried to…” she bit her lip and Robin tensed up, wondering if she was about to hear some deep horrible secret. “Well, I tried to never be alone with him, but sometimes I had nowhere else to go and one night he slid into my bed while I was sleeping and tried to touch me sexually.”

“When you were fourteen?”

“Yes. Summer 1991, I remember,” said Lucy, and Robin looked up to Strike, who suddenly looked ready to murder Whittaker. Robin knew right then that Strike had never known, and Ted didn’t look like he had known either, nor Greg, seeing their shock. With a pang of pain and horror, Robin dreaded this was the first time Lucy had had the guts to say it. “I remember because I slapped him hard, shouted, woke the entire squat up. Corm ran to see what was happening, and Mum, but Whittaker had run out of the flat, and I feared if I said what he had tried to do, Corm would genuinely kill him and end up arrested. So I shouted I wasn’t staying with him, that I had to go. Ran to the phone cabin outside in the street and begged my uncle and aunt, our surrogate parents, to come get me from Cornwall and take me away. They were there by sunrise, and I had everything packed, the little I had, and was ready to go. Corm understood it was perfectly normal that I’d want to leave, after six months in the situation, and Mum was shocked, but she saw me so distressed she said if I really wanted to leave, then fine. Then Uncle Ted, Aunt Joan and I begged Corm to come too, but he didn’t want to leave Mum alone with him, so he stayed. And by then we had a family friend in the area, a bit of a gangster my brother’s age who adored my Mum because he had no family and one time Mum had found him wounded in the street and had brought him home, and he knew he always had a bed and warm food in the squat if he needed to, he visited often to make sure Whittaker didn’t hurt Mum, so I figured between him and Corm, she’d be safe. Nothing I could do anyway.”

“So you moved to Cornwall permanently?”

“For the next four years more or less, until I went to the University of Exeter later in life.”

“Did you ever visit your Mum after leaving?”

“Very oddly, and always with Ted and Joan. You see at the time all we could afford was to drive up to London, which is a long trip, and it could only be if Ted and Joan weren’t working and had the time. So perhaps for special occasions, like Cormoran’s eighteenth birthday party or when our younger brother Switch was born in the 92, Mum’s boy with Whittaker.”

“And when you visited, how was Whittaker?”

“He’d disappear as much as possible, because Ted would be there, and my uncle is an army veteran who then was young and strong, so Whittaker feared him too. But I knew from Corm that he was still dangerous and problematic.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“The last time he was judged for killing Mum.”

“Mrs Everton, did Mr Whittaker ever do anything that made you think your mother was in danger?”

“All the time. He had anger issues, and he’s always been a psychopath, an addict and heavy drinker. Combine everything, and he’s truly dangerous.”

“And did he ever hurt, in your presence, any of your brothers, neighbours, anyone?”

“Yes. I don’t know about the baby, I wasn’t there, I guess Mum would keep him safe. But he’s jumped on Corm, on neighbours… and what Corm said he does about the gesture…” she did it with her finger across her neck. “He did that a lot.”

“What about Gillespie? Have you ever met him?”

“No. I’ve heard about him a lot, never good things, Mum was always talking shit about how he took the money from us, about the lawyers… my memory’s pretty hazy about it now, but yeah, back in the day he came up around the home a lot. Mostly when we were the poorest. And Corm’s mentioned him sometimes, here and there, later, he told me more when I was called to testify here today. But today’s the first time I’ve seen him.”

“Since Mr Gillespie administered your brother’s child support in an excessively restrictive way that, according to Alexander Rokeby and his mother, wasn’t approved or in the knowledge of Jonny Rokeby at the time, how poor would you say that made your family?”

“Extremely, like you have no idea,” said Lucy sincerely. “My Dad did provide, but it wasn’t much, and Mum… she was terrible administrating money. I mean she had us in her twenties, and she never really matured much, she was like a teenager inside, perpetually. So she’d be following boyfriends, concerts and festivals she wanted to attend, the next whim she got… Took us all over the country, often by hitch-hiking, following the next thing she liked, throwing her money away. So we rarely lived anywhere decent to begin with, more often squats, I remember a communal in Brighton that was honestly a nightmare. We had only enough food to survive, schooling now and then, and then once Gillespie completely cut the money supply… not even proper shoes in winter. I remember our mother liked to cuddle with some guy each night, and so when it was cold in winter, my brother and I would snuggle up to keep each other warm through the night, because our shoes were always ripped and inadequate for the weather, and he grew so fast his clothes were always too short, and I got his hand-me-downs mostly. And our clothes, if they got ripped or a hole, or just broke from years using them strolling across England, we’d wait years for an exchange. The poorer we got, the worst it was, at times we had no coats through winter in Liverpool, and then as often as possible, Ted and Joan would grab us and take us to Cornwall, if Ted got wind we were somewhere hungry or cold, he was right there to get us, shouting at Mum, his sister, to stop throwing money away and get us proper clothes and food. I mean there were good times too, but… poverty was definitely there, for many many years after Gillespie cut the money. Poverty is all I remember clearly that we had, as a matter of fact.”

“No toys? Birthday presents?”

This time Lucy couldn’t hold the snort back and she shook her head.

“Now and then, but usually there was no money.”

Strike contemplated his knees, wishing Lucy had pretended their mother was a little nicer, focused more on the good things.

“Was Mr Gillespie aware of what his mishandling of the money that was lawfully Cormoran’s was doing to your family?”

“He had to be, if my mother was anything, is a rebellious fighter. She wasn’t one to shut up when she saw something unfair going on.”

“Do you think your situation could’ve improved if Gillespie had given Cormoran his money?”

“Definitely. Our mother would definitely learn to be better at administrating but… even with her faults and lack of intelligence about economy, when I was a young child and we had the money, and since she worked until she died, she always have one job or another… we could rent places, sometimes. We were in private schools twice, even. She had moments when she tried and managed a good job, but our children’s support was absolutely essential. Without it… now that I’m a grown-up adult, I guess the harder she saw it was going to be to get to the end of the month, the more she panicked and began to make less smart decisions that only brought us downhill faster.”

“So I imagine you and your brother had to get jobs as teenagers to help out.”

“Yes, we did.”

“How soon did you begin to work?”

“I think we both started part time jobs at thirteen,” replied Lucy. “They varied, because we were rarely in the same place for too long, but often shops, things like that. One time we got a nice one at a book shop, in Whitechapel, that was good. We worked as many hours as we legally could the older we grew, and studied and kept our homework up to date, and we gave Mum the money and maybe kept a small bit for Christmas and things like that. We’ve worked pretty much our entire lives.”

Robin clenched her jaw in anger and turned, seeing Al was biting his lip and staring at the floor, ashamed of the luxuries he enjoyed, she had no doubt. And there was Lucy, stoically saying the things Strike wouldn’t give away.

“So you know Gillespie for being the lawyer who allegedly did whatever he wanted with your brother’s money behind his father’s back, forcing your family into a situation of extreme poverty for years, and you know Whittaker for being your mother’s allegedly violent, aggressive, even sexual offender of minors, last husband, just to summarize. Correct?”

“Correct.”

“In your personal opinion, do you think they could’ve done what they’ve been accused of doing?”

“After hearing what the others have said before me today, and the case presentation earlier… yes, absolutely.”

“Mrs Everton, I want to ask you, and I understand it’s a difficult thing, but why did you really leave your mother? How did Whittaker make you feel that you left your family and everything you knew at fourteen?”

“It wasn’t safe,” Lucy answered with somewhat glassy eyes. “I was terrified all the time, that the moment he caught me alone I’d end up dead or worse, raped, or even worse things, I’m sure a psychopath like him who enjoyed violence like he did would’ve had fun doing crazy stuff on people like me. So I left. At least that way Corm wouldn’t have to worry about me _and_ Mum.”

“The last question I want to ask you is, were you surprised when your Mum suddenly appeared dead?”

L ucy sighed and shook her head.

“I don’t know, perhaps it was her character but… she always seemed so perpetually young, I never once imagined her being an old grandmother, settling down and dying of old age. Obviously I wasn’t going to even think of her dying or anything at that age, but somewhere in the back of my head I must’ve known she could only end up dead in some tragic way, with the life she led and the people she trusted, specially after marrying Whittaker, which I couldn’t even believe when I heard, so… I wasn’t surprised. I don’t think nobody was truly surprised, shocked, sure, devastated, absolutely, but I think everyone saw it coming, and once Corm left for Oxford… it was more a matter of when. He couldn’t just live to protect her forever.”

“So you think your brother knew it’d happen when he left?”

“Oh I know he feared very seriously that it’d happen, because he threatened with not going. And then, he called that gangster who adored my Mum, the one I mentioned before, and got him to promise he would look after Mum. And he promised but… he was an addict too, and even if he hadn’t been, nobody can just be there twenty-four hours constantly, specially not with how active she was. So she died while he was out somewhere.”

“Did your Mum ever do heroin, as far as you know?”

“No,” Lucy shook her head. “What Cormoran said, that’s the truth. She told us, and particularly him, everything, he could even smoke normal fags at home and it was fine, no shame. Mum encouraged us to live, be adventurous as she’d say… but she always told us not to try heroin, between others of a group she considered the absolute worst, she had drugs divided by categories and would tell us which ones were fun and which ones were dangerous or crap. Heroin was in the final group. And every time a squatter or someone close would die from an overdose of something, she’d remind us, she’d say, ‘that’s why they do the crap ones’.”

“Mr Whittaker always defended that your mother wanted to die. Do you think that was true? That perhaps she could’ve been very depressed while you and Cormoran were away and did it?”

Lucy’s jaw clenched and her nostrils flared, narrowing her eyes at Whittaker in anger. Whittaker merely smiled at her.

“That _bastard_ knew her for four years, Cormoran and I were the only constants in her life for nearly two decades that we had her. _Nobody_ is going to come and try to make us believe she wanted to die, because that’s a bunch of lies, that’s all they are. Nobody wanted to live more than our mother, nobody. Listen, no, listen, I spoke with her every single week on the phone, once or twice,” she raised a finger as if telling a child off. “And she was full of life and so excited. Firstly, she was truly in love, somehow. She was very loving and kind and fell in love easily, with wrong people, and she was head over heels about Whittaker, anybody who heard her talking about him would know immediately. Secondly, she loved motherhood. With her flaws, I’ll tell you what she was always excellent at, she always made us feel loved. I’ve never heard of a friend’s mother who told their child how much she loved them and how proud of them she was as our mother said it to us,” she said with glassy eyes and a hoarse voice, charged with emotion. “And she was so excited about having a new baby, she said now she was older and wiser and would do things better for Switch, she said she and Whittaker would get proper jobs so they could take Switch to concerts when he was older, and so they could go to Oxford and visit Corm, she was insanely proud of him, said if she ever did anything good was her children, and that Switch and I would follow in his footsteps and land in Oxford too. She was looking forward to the next stage of her life, and if that bastard hadn’t killed her, she’d be an odd, hippie old lady still going to concerts and getting tattoos!” she added pointing an accusatory finger at Whittaker.

The cross examination didn’t have much to do with Lucy, who was by then biting heads off so  they quickly f inished with Lucy,  and then  they let her go and she returned to her seat, fuming with rage.

“Luce—,” Strike began as he got up to let her slide into the bench.

“If they let him go, we’re letting Shanker take care of this,” Lucy hissed between her teeth, and resumed her seat between Robin and her husband, who took her hand and kissed it, making her expression instantly soften.

Robin took Lucy’s other hand wordlessly, giving it a gentle squeeze as her eyes went back to the judge, and one of the accountants was called to testify. After that, the session was concluded for the day, having been there hours, and Robin knew she would inevitably have to spend another sleepless night, prepared to more likely testify the next day.

  
  



	23. Part of me

**Chapter 23: Part of me.**

It was only past lunch time when they made it out of court, but everyone felt like they’ve been hit with a hammer, and wordlessly, even Ilsa walked towards the nearest pub. They got a round of strong drinks for those who could have them, and Strike stared at his sister with new eyes. He understood things much better, her fear. That’s what she had feared, not the possibility of Whittaker getting a bit too bothersome, not the drugs, but that her step father would sexually abuse her at fourteen.

“You should’ve told me,” said Strike, breaking the long silence that had fallen as they drank. “I would’ve told Shanker and—,”

“And you’d both still be in prison, not worth it,” Lucy snapped. “Look, forget about it, I slapped him, I got rid of him before he could do more, and it’s been over twenty years. All that matters now is that tomorrow Robin and Vanessa are going to destroy them. They’re leaving the best for last.”

“Oh, Lucy,” Robin put her glass down, angrily narrowing her eyes. Knowing what Whittaker had tried to do to a child had awoken a new monster inside. “They don’t know what’s coming…”

R obin’s turn to testify eventually came in a cold, rainy morning, unexpected in May. She had indeed been left for last, after dozens had testified, as the coup de grace, the last bullet needed to completely destroy them beyond repair. By then, everyone was exhausted, but looked on with renovated energy, straightening in their seats, when Robin’s name was announced. The prosecutor, an African-British lady who Robin knew as kind, empathetic and powerful, but who on court pulled a good killer whale facade, turned to her with determination in her eyes, and Robin gave a nearly imperceptible nod, silently allowing her to ask the toughest questions she wanted to ask, if necessary. She was a really honest person, and she was ready to clean some things up with truth.

“Miss Ellacott, for the jury and judges that don’t know you, could you tell them about your career? It’s important people know you’re not just any detective.”

“I moved to London from Yorkshire five years ago, at twenty-five, with half a psychology degree and little professional experience, and after a period of time as a temp in secretary and assistant jobs, I was sent to cover for Mr Strike’s secretary for a week,” explained Robin. “Because of my efficiency but the business’ lack of money, Mr Strike accepted to keep me beyond that for less money, cutting Temporary Solutions out, and I began to train as a junior detective, but I had no previous police or investigative experience. That was five years ago, now, I own forty percent of the business, I’ve been a full partner of Mr Strike in the agency for the past three years or so, and Mr Strike and I have worked together to provide all the evidence for the arrest of John Bristow for the murders of Charlie Bristow, Lula Landry and Rochelle Onifade; the arrest of Elizabeth Tassel for the murder of Owen Quine and the absolution of his widow Leonora Quine innocently imprisoned by the Met in the beginning; the arrest of Donald Laing aka The Shacklewell Ripper for the murders of Kelsey Platt, Heather Smart, Martina Rossi, Sadie Roach and the attempted murder of both Lila Monkton and myself;” Robin never forgot their names, and casually exposed her long scar in her forearm, glaring at Whittaker and Gillespie, who glared back at her. “The arrest of Raphael Chiswell for murdering Jasper Chiswell and again attempting to kill me; and the arrest of Janice Beattie for multiple murders including Margot Bamborough, who she kept in an Ottoman for forty years until we figured it all out. And I personally made sure children rapist and sexual offender Noel Brockbank would never touch a little girl again, and provided the evidence that got a serial rapists life sentence when I was a student in university.”

“So you’re a professional of catching killers no matter how long it’s been.”

“Mr Strike and I are a hell of a team,” said Robin simply, serious. Strike smirked, leaning back in his seat to enjoy the spectacle. Vanessa turned to him and winked.

“How has your relationship with Mr Strike evolved for you to investigate personal matters of his life?”

“He has always been a quiet, reserved character, never used to talk of his personal life, but we were colleagues, just colleagues, in a very demanding job that, even more so in the beginning when, as Mr Strike has mentioned, the business severely struggled for survival, forced us to work without a proper schedule, days melting into nights and weekends and holidays fussing with normal days. When you spend so much time alone with someone in such a job where we’ve had to save each other’s arses more than once, where tension brews easily, and where you need to trust in your partner two hundred percent, and you don’t have time to make other friends, it’s inevitable you start to learn a lot about the other’s personal life, and we both did, and became best friends for many years, nothing else. But last year we were both single and available, our friendship was very tight, and so it transcended into romance,” Robin shrugged. “Like I said our job is very particular, so our relationship has always been very peculiar, and as we daily face more intense lives than most people, our relationship also became more intense quicker, that’s why we’re already engaged. But at work, we’re purely friends and colleagues, and the personal doesn’t mix with the professional, we’re strict. And now that he’s my fiancé, of course we know everything about each other’s lives and family.”

“But you didn’t know that much of Rokeby, Whittaker and Gillespie until recently or yes?”

“I knew bits and pieces. Like Mr Strike told before, we ran into Whittaker for work, so he told me a lot about him and his relationship to Leda Strike and the family, so I knew that. I knew about Rokeby too, because like Cormoran said they were giving him a hard time and he confided to me about it. And I knew about Gillespie as much as Cormoran told you all that I did, I had been his assistant and the officer manager for a long time, I did the numbers, I knew how bad the debt was and how much Gillespie insisted he’d pay back. I was aware my then boss was living in the office when I first came to work.”

“You knew Jeff Whittaker had already been tried for Leda’s murder once then, right?”

“Yes.”

“As a detective, I imagine you had your theories then, did you think he had done it?”

“In the beginning I thought it was a possibility, I knew Cormoran was convinced and I’ve always admired his brightness, so I figured it was likely he was right, but wasn’t as certain as him.”

“And all of this started because you wanted to mediate in a family matter, can you tell us what went on that meeting?”

“Just like DI Ekwensi and Mr Alexander Rokeby have said, I wanted to know the truth. I told Jonny Rokeby I was there for Cormoran only, and that I was only going to tell Cormoran things of which I was sure of, and it was up to Jonny to convince me of his honesty. He told me all about his relationship to Leda, how he had been in love but hadn’t wanted to lose the daughter he had with his then wife and had blamed the Strikes for his own mistakes, abandoning his to-be-born son in favour of his already existent toddler. He told me about a life of bad decisions, drugs and alcohol, that had led to him giving too much power to Peter Gillespie…” and she went on, telling them with all detail what had occurred in the meeting with Rokeby, and how he had given her papers of his numbers, she had promised to investigate, and had sat down with her own accountant to confirm the anomalies.

A fter telling all about the beginnings of the investigation, the people she had spoken with and the testimonies she had obtained, which pointed more and more to the plotting of Leda’s murder, the prosecutor changed the line of questioning.

“What exactly made you suspect you were facing Leda’s murder?”

“Honestly? A hunch. I was losing my sleep going over Rokeby’s accounting, boxes and boxes of forty years worth of countability, trying to use techniques my ex-husband, an accountant, had once taught me to try and see something clearly in that mess, when a hunch made me start checking the numbers in certain dates. Now usually, we don’t follow hunches in investigations, Strike had warned me specifically against hunches because they’re not usually fully trustworthy, but sometimes our hunches have been key, so I figured perhaps for us they had developed into a sixth sense from doing this job so much. So I listen to my hunches and…” Robin sighed. “I first looked for Strike’s date of birth, but I didn’t have papers that far back, because Rokeby only began to pay child support after his paternity was proven when Strike was already a few years old, and that’s when the books he had given me began. So then I looked at his birthdays, but I didn’t see anything so extraordinary that I knew my hunch had been answered. And then… for some reason, I went straight to the date of Leda’s murder, and I saw it. A single extraction of five thousand pounds in cash from an ATM in Whitechapel, just before Leda’s murder. There was no explanation, nothing, and I checked to see if it was an annual, or a monthly thing, but it wasn’t, it stood out massively between the other numbers and dates. And I can’t explain it, but somehow, I knew I was looking at the key evidence Strike had spent twenty years looking for to catch his mother’s killer. Still it was a hunch, I didn’t want to jump to conclusions or tell Strike and get him excited if it turned out to be nothing, so I launched a full investigation just far enough to make sure there was something twisted there, something really bad… and when I was absolutely sure if someone dug just a little deeper they’d find out, I told DI Ekwensi, gave her all that I had, and told her to not screw it up.”

Robin continued answering questions from the prosecutor for twenty minutes more, until she had virtually said everything she knew she could say, and then came the moment she had dreaded more, the cross-examination.

“Ms Ellacott, you do realize your entire investigation, on which the police’s investigation is entirely based, stands on a _hunch_?” the defender tried to ridicule her with a mocking tone and a smirk.

“According to Cambridge Dictionary, Sir, a hunch is an idea that is based on a feeling and for which there’s no proof, so I took my hunch, converted it into a hypothesis, which again according to the dictionary is an idea or explanation that is based on known facts but has not yet been proven. I had the hypothesis, at first, that Gillespie had paid Whittaker to orchestrate the murder of Leda Whittaker and Cormoran Strike, I had the idea based on known _facts_ , which were the first part of evidence that I had, and then all I had to do was prove it, which I have done with a list of over a hundred pieces of evidence including several dozens of testimonies and witness statements. And before you try to ridicule my investigative procedure further, let me tell you my process is no different from a scientific investigation, the same procedures used to explain the entirety of our sciences and the way our world works, and that even as you try to ridicule me, all you have is a hunch, a hypothesis that your clients are innocent, based on the fact that the law demands everyone is innocent until proven guilty, and your job is to prove beyond shade of doubt that they are innocent, and because you lack sufficient facts and knowledge to do so, you’re just trying to attack my truth and my facts. But Mr Fedmore, you fail to realize that the truth remains the truth no matter how much one might try to deny it, and it always comes out, and just like science didn’t relent to flat-earthers, I will not relent to _you_ , which is why your clients are going to prison for life. Anything else?” Robin had quickly but clearly rambled, punctuated each worth with defiance, and she finished with a forced smile, eyes fixed on him, as his smirk vanished and Strike exchanged a grin with Ilsa, who had clearly prepared Robin well.

“Yes, in fact,” the defender glared at her below his lawyer wig. “You have claimed yourself that you and Mr Strike are a great team together, you have always worked together, you have stated you knew how long your fiancé had been waiting for advances to find his mother’s killer, how is it possible that when you realized you had what he’d been wanting, you didn’t run to tell him and investigate together as per usual? How do you expect us to believe you hid such a key piece of information from the man you love, the man you said you told everything to?”

“Precisely because I love him,” said Robin serious. “The judges and jury and yourself in this room had sat here for a few days and heard the pain of a man who lost his little sister, grown-up adults who have spent the last twenty years of their lives seeing their private lives exposed on the internet and TV as everyone called their mother everything from whore to suicidal, without giving her any resemblance of justice, to you, this family’s pain is all new but not to me. I have known Strike’s family for five years, I have had drinks with his sister, befriended his childhood friends, cooked dinner with his uncle, and heard from friends and family the pain of losing Leda, of never really knowing exactly what happened and of never getting justice. And if that wasn’t enough to make me realize how important it was to be smart about anything I ever found on Leda, then we got the Bamborough case and I saw with my own eyes how an entire family had pretty much collapsed due to forty years of not knowing what happened to another mother and wife that just vanished without justice. And then I became engaged, and I don’t think a lot of people know what it feels like when you’re writing down a guest list and your family occupies a whole page of names, and his occupies barely a couple lines on a paper. My fiancé doesn’t have a mother, he doesn’t have grandparents, he doesn’t have cousins, all he has is an uncle, some step siblings he gets along with, and their families, and that’s all, period. Only in my former household I have parents, and several siblings, not to mention loads of extended family, and if any jerk dared to kill any of my relatives and then the world tried to force me and my descendants to believe they wanted to die, that it was a suicide, and feed us with lies, I wouldn’t rest until justice was made,” said Robin firmly, and eyed Strike for a second. He looked blankly at her, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “And our job is not about getting credit and being cheered for solving something, our job is about giving families the relief that only truth and justice can provide. So when I found what I found… I knew I had two options. Hide things from everybody I love, step back and hand it to the police so that they could make sure a judge would formally reopen the investigation and conduct a full, completely objective investigation to put two people between bars, or give in to excitement and tell my partner, solve everything alone with him, and then have a judge or someone like you discredit our entire investigation just because we’re the son and daughter-in-law of the victim, and then we would’ve thrown our best chance to catch Leda’s killer down the toilet. Was it easy to hide such a big thing for so long from even my own professional and life partner? No. Was it easy to accept I had to give the investigation to someone else and step back from something so important to me? No. Two of the hardest things I’ve ever done, in all honesty. But I did it for love, for justice, and because I would do anything to bring that family the truth they deserve and to take such pair of dangerous monsters off the streets, even if it means a few weeks of struggle to do the right thing. Leda and her family are worth the struggle.”

“All that is very pretty, but why would anyone give your investigation any credit? You’re not a cop, you’re just… I was going to say a psychology graduate, but not even. You’re only an amateur playing detective that came here with a whole investigation based on feelings of revenge indoctrinated by your in laws, with a bunch of so called evidence that’s mostly conjecture, and the only reason why police took it was because DI Ekwensi has worked with you before, she probably owed you one, didn’t she?”

Robin snorted a dry laugh. She felt fury raise but she kept it in check to fuel herself, empower herself, not lose it. But she could hear how the room had fallen into a deafening silence, waiting to see how she responded to a bully.

“It’s funny, because I wouldn’t dare to have an opinion on your career because I have barely any knowledge of what it is like to be a lawyer, yet you dare to question my skills and my work with zero knowledge of what my job is like, and you think I’m going to care? Why would I give any value to the opinion of a bully who hasn’t resolved a single crime, let alone a murder, in his whole life? I have resolved, with this, about twenty murders, get on my level and then I’ll pay any attention to your criticism on my professional abilities,” she said casually, not losing a polite smile. Strike covered his mouth to hide a grin he couldn’t suppress. He was so proud he could’ve shouted ‘that’s my girl!’. “So why would you give me any credit? Because I have never, ever, had a professional failure in my life. I have never had a case in my hands that I didn’t, alone or with my partner or employees, get to the bottom of and resolve, I have punched murderers far scarier than you and your clients, I have an impeccable record of zero failures, which I’m sure is more than most people in this room can say for their careers. I have the admiration of my colleagues and the Metropolitan Police, from whom I’ve rejected job offers twice, but most important, it doesn’t matter who the heck I am or what I have done or what my career is like. All that matters here today is that a mother of three is dead, that she was murdered, that twice have been enough evidence to at least be sure she didn’t kill herself and yet the official records unfairly claim suicide, all that matters is that a family has been put under twenty years of unimaginable torture and pain,” she rose a finger to point at the family in the benches at the back of the room, “and that the Metropolitan Police led a flawless investigation that effectively proves, to the professional judgement of a judge who reopened the case, two Detective Inspectors, and a Private Investigator, that Leda Whittaker was killed by her husband Jeff Whittaker under the planning of Peter Gillespie, for greed mainly, before the Christmas of 1994, and that truth doesn’t change no matter who I am or what my merits are, and anyone who pays sufficient attention to DI Ekwensi’s job and investigation would find that obvious. That’s what matters here today. Justice. Not me.”

A fter that, the defender seemed to decide Robin was too dangerous to have her talking, as he couldn’t interrupt her here in the High Court, and he had no more questions, which meant Robin’s job had finished, and she could go, trembling with adrenaline, and sit between Strike and Ilsa, both of whom beamed at her. Strike wrapped an arm around her shoulders, wishing he could do more, and the defender began to expose his case, basing his defence not in arguing Leda was killed, but on arguing there were more reasonable suspects, like addicts who had killed her for a drug disagreement. He only had about five witnesses to call, and in the end, his case was weak and frail.

That’s when Robin knew, beyond a shade of doubt that they had won, and felt her heart accelerate. The final thoughts were exposed by the prosecution and the defender in turns, and then the judge called for a three hour break while the jury made a decision, so they went to the pub for lunch, to try and unwind.

“Cormoran, Lucy…” Al made his way between the multitude and got to the siblings, that sat together in an outside table, with a sense of urgency. “I am so, so, so sorry. I promise you if Dad had known what your family was going through… he wouldn’t have allowed this. Shit if I had known… I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not on you, Al,” Strike half smiled tiredly. “Come on, grab a beer and sit down.”

“Oh shit,” Ilsa blurted suddenly, holding onto her belly.

“What?” Nick looked worriedly at her. “Strong kick, love?”

“No… I’m in labour.”

  
  



	24. Fireworks

** Chapter 24: Fireworks. **

While Nick took Ilsa, whose contractions had apparently gently started in the morning, but she had assumed it was at least a day to go, since she was doing it for the first time and it was always slow for first timers, to the hospital with contractions that were getting suddenly very strong, the others returned to the courtroom, called back only an hour into the break because the jury hadn’t needed more time. They weren’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing, so that just made them more nervous.

At last, the judge read the sentence to the expectant room, while outside, journalists crowded at the doors expecting to get the headlines. Whatever the result was, it would be big either way.

“…it has been therefore determined, firstly, that for the past thirty years, Mr Jeff Whittaker has been accepting bribery from Mr Peter Gillespie in exchange for his silence about the nature of their biological relationship. Secondly, that Mr Gillespie obtaining the money for such bribery from secretly deviating money from Mr Jonny Rokeby’s accounts, which he extracted in cash and gave to Mr Whittaker in hand. Thirdly, that in 1991 Mr Gillespie reached a point where he wished to terminate this relationship…” the judge went on and on for a long time, until it got to the final part. “…and finally, it has been determined that, taking a position of advantage as the victim’s husband, Mr Jeff Whittaker employed heroin provided by Mr Peter Gillespie, which he injected in Leda Whittaker, mother of then two year old Switch, sixteen year old Lucy, and eighteen year old Cormoran, without her consent while she slept, with the intention and consequence of provoking her death from overdose, and that Mr Whittaker did so encouraged and helped by Mr Gillespie, who had planned it all, and that Mr Gillespie also planned to murder Mr Cormoran Strike employing Mr Whittaker, a plan that was later frustrated. As a judge, I consider murder is already bad enough as it is, but planning the murder of an innocent young mother and a teenager boy purely for greed and money, specially when they’re part of your own family, is even more despicable and disgraceful. So firstly, Jeff Whittaker, I sentence you to life imprisonment without possibilities for neither bail nor parole, for the murder of Leda Whittaker with the aggravating factor that she was then your wife and the mother of your toddler son, plus participating in a plot to also murder your step-son Cormoran, and Peter Gillespie, even though you did not commit murder by your own hand, I consider you deserving of the same sentence, and therefore sentence you to life imprisonment without bail nor parole, because for greed you planned, plotted, and provided money and resources for the murder of who by all legal effects were your daughter in law and step son in law, factors that I consider aggravating…”

S trike didn’t need to hear any more. He turned to Robin, who was shocked, beaming from ear to ear, his eyes quickly filling with tears, he took her face in his hands, and he kissed her for all she was worth.

  
  



	25. On top of the world

** Chapter 2 5 : On top of the world. **

Exiting court filled with emotion, laughing and crying at once, and holding each other tight, the family didn’t mind the sea of photographers and journalists that awaited outside. Robin was filled with a new level of joy and relief, the tension of months finally fading away as she hugged Vanessa and thanked her profusely. She lamented now, as her mother hugged her telling her how proud she was of her, what an incredible thing she’d done, that her arm was injured and she couldn’t hug people properly, specially since Lucy was crying while they had phoned Nick and Ilsa, who wasn’t in active labour yet, to scream into the phone that they’d done it and urge Ilsa to get her babies going in such a historic day.

Walking down the steps to the street, the last remnants of sun hit Strike in a way that felt, in his mood, like being touched by the sun for the first time, as he couldn’t stop grinning, rubbing tears off his eyes, looking over at Ted,  Henry and Lucy, who were laughing together with Greg and Robin, remembering the most hardcore moments of the trial now with fondness. Everyone was particularly impressed with Robin’s performance and the way she’d make the defender barrister regret having given her the turn to talk.

“Mr Strike! What’s the verdict Mr Strike? Ms Ellacott!” the journalists tried to call their attention and for once, Strike gave in and disengaged himself from the group. “What’s happened Mr Strike? Are they guilty?!”

“Of course they’re guilty,” said Strike to the first microphone that appeared under his chin, exuberant with joy. “What’s happened today is that twenty years later, Jeff Whittaker has been sentenced for the murder of my mother Leda, which we always knew he was guilty of, with Peter Gillespie as his accomplice, thanks to the magnificent, impressive and outstanding work of DI Vanessa Ekwensi and Private Investigator Robin Ellacott, the two most incredible women who believed in truth, worked harder than anybody else, and got to the bottom of things because it couldn’t be any other way. It’s thanks to them that justice has finally been made today.”

“How’s the family going to celebrate Mr Strike?” asked a smiley excited journalist, trying to push through another microphone between her peers, the flashes of cameras forcing Strike to narrow his eyes slightly.

“We’re going to treat the stars of the day to a well-deserved pint and just enjoy the good mood!”

“Was Jonny Rokeby involved with Leda’s murder?!” another journalist shouted out.

“No!” Strike shook his head. “His lawyer was, but Jonny had no knowledge of it, and I’ll tell you more,” he added after a moment of thought, deciding that if he played his cards right, two wrongs would be righted that day. “Jonny Rokeby was, much like my mother, a good person who made a shit ton of mistakes in his youth, first of which was trusting the worst possible people, and both their lives were damaged for it. But today…” he bit his lip in thought. “In spite of their many wrongs, I am proud to be their kid. I’ve been lucky enough to have two sets of parents, and that ought to be recognized.”

They continued shouting questions, but Strike was already walking back to the group, that waited for him to head to the pub. Robin grinned extending her available hand to him, and he took it, leaning to kiss her.

“You’re my hero, Robin Ellacott,” he said warmly, and she beamed at him.

The pub was theirs and no alcohol and music were enough. Regardless of that, when Nick phoned saying the twins were born and healthy and the Mummy was happy and well,  Strike and Robin, both red and giggly from alcohol and joy, dropped everything, bid most affective farewell to everyone, and announced they had to go meet the miracle babies. Strike was, for once, sure he wouldn’t forget this one birthday, May 17 th 2015, because it was a day he’ll forever hold dearly in his heart for all the good that had finally been done. A poor dead woman’s story had been cleared, two killers were in prison with the gangsters that had shot Robin and attempted to shoot him, and a couple that deserved parenthood like no one, had finally acquired it.

“Strike!” Robin pulled Strike’s arm drunkenly as they exited the pub, and Strike grinned at her.

“What?”

“We haven’t gotten the babies anything!”

“What are you talking about? We bought their parents a basket of goodies weeks ago, and we bought the babies’ miniature clothing that’s already in their drawer!”

“But we ought to get them something _today_!” Robin insisted. “Today’s special!”

“What do we get them at this hour with the date? A calendar?”

“No… but good thinking! To the office!”

They sobered up drinking water in the office, telling the Herberts they’d be there soon, and Robin printed the headlines of The Guardian for the day, updated online with the new information. As suspected, Leda’s news were front page. Robin printed it in the luxurious hard paper they reserved for the most important documents,  grabbed one of their picture frames where they had a photographed landscape to decorate the reception, and substituted the photograph for the newspapers’ front page she had printed, where the current date showed at the top.

“Here, and now…” Robin dug in the drawers of their shared inner office, pulling wrap paper she often keep there because since they basically lived in the office, often it was where they had time to wrap up presents before going to after work birthday dinners. Strike observed with a warm smile as she showcased the talent he lacked to delicately wrap the present and then she grabbed a marker with which she wrote on the wrapping paper ‘Happy B-Day, Herberts!’. “Okay let’s go.”

When they finally arrived to the hospital room, it was past dinner time and they were allowed in only because of their lower celebrity status. Strike had bought balloons and a giant teddy bear at a gift shop, and Robin carried the wrapped present, quietly knocking on Ilsa’s room and coming in when Nick called that the door was open.

Strike felt his breath taken away right away. He had known Nick and Ilsa for years, and had known many versions of them, the sad, the drunk, the festive, the angry, the student, the doctor, the lawyer… he had, without being too conscious of it, been the one main witness of their entire story together, and still he was unprepared to what he would feel when he saw them in the chapter they had been wanting for the more, the parenthood one. When for the first time, he looked at them and they were a Mum and a Dad. At the first sight of them, he felt a knot in his throat, and grinned a sincere smile.

The room was small and cosy, with a bed, an armchair, and a small sofa, and two little wooden hospital cots. The baby bag was on the sofa, and the new Dad sat on an armchair, proudly holding one of his sleeping babies with happiness written all over his tired face. Ilsa, also looking tired but happier than they’ve ever seen her, both parents with swollen eyes from clearly having cried, was already in her pyjamas, in bed, sat up holding the other baby wrapped in a golden blanket, her hair in a slightly messy bun and her glasses slightly crooked.

For a moment Strike and Robin stood, taking in the image, not moving, and the four friends simply smiled at each other, sharing the mutual joy. Then, a sniff interrupted the silence and Robin, apparently overcome with the exact same empathetic joy and emotion that Strike felt, walked to Ilsa, sat on the edge of the bed, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, kissing her cheek soundly.

“You did it,” she said looking at her friend, not with surprise, but with pride, grinning at her. Ilsa grinned right back and nodded, inclining her hold of the baby in her hands slightly so they could see the round sleepy face better.

“We named her Eowen Leda Herbert, I hope you don’t mind,” she added, looking up at Strike, who was baffled. “But since Lucy had no girls, and you don’t want kids, and having in count what happened today… we figured it was okay to name her after one of the most generous and loving women we’ve known. And we hope, you two will be their godparents, right?”

Robin and Strike exchanged a big smile, and nodded at once.

“It’ll be our honour,” said Strike. “Mum would’ve loved it. Thanks, guys.”

“And here’s little Talek Robin Herbert,” added Nicholas showing off the baby boy. “We went for Cornish names. We were going to name him after Uncle Oggy, but we figured there was no need to punish him like that,” he joked, chuckling. “So we named him after the hero of his birth day.”

“Oh, Nick…” Robin was unexpectedly touched. She had never really cared about anyone ever naming anyone after her, she never even thought about it, but once it had happened, and for the reasons it had happened, it warmed her heart unexpectedly, because it meant that she meant enough for the parents to decide their son, when they probably didn’t expect to achieve more pregnancies, should carry her name and try to be a little bit more like his auntie. They had called her a hero, and gone for her, Robin, a most recent friend, rather than naming their only children after themselves, long-time friends, or beloved relatives. “Thank you.”

“You hold him,” Nick said, leaning over the bed to pass him to her, carefully because Robin could only use one arm. Robin put the wrapped present on the mattress and took the warm soft bundle, that didn’t do more than move his hands a tiny bit when he was passed over. “I want to check out this teddy!” he added with a laugh, grabbing the giant bear from Strike’s arms. “Oh they’re going to love this when they grow a little! Thank you.”

“They are absolutely beautiful,” said Robin looking at both babies, both very round and with an air of their mother. And contrary to when her niece had been born, this time Robin meant it, perhaps because these babies didn’t look angry with their birth, but peaceful, cosy, as if they were happy to meet their parents and be here. They both had blonde fuzzy hair, little noses, and round, rosy faces with tiny chubby fists, and they didn’t look like they’ve been born two weeks early as they had.

“I’m inclined to agree,” said Strike, tying the balloons to the bar at the feet of the bed. “Well done guys.”

“It was all Ilsa, what a rock star,” said Nick proudly caressing Ilsa’s face.

“It was the best day ever,” added Ilsa happily. “And Whittaker’s in prison…”

“He is,” Strike nodded, satisfied. “Happy endings do exist, after all.”

“Yeah…” then Ilsa noticed the wrapped present. “What’s that?”

“Oh, a little nothing we improvised before coming here,” Robin reached out and passed it to Ilsa, supporting Talek on her lap. Ilsa set her daughter on her lap carefully, and unwrapped the present, looking at the framed headlines. “We figured, so they know how special the day they were born was, for more than one reason.”

Ilsa grinned, showing it to Nick, who smirked, nodding.

“What a thoughtful gift!” said Ilsa. “Thank you!”

“It was literally nothing,” said Robin, and turned her attention back to the baby in her arms. Strike sat on the feet of the bed and watched the woman he loved holding one of who he was sure were going to be the first babies Strike felt close to. Also two of the most spoiled, he was sure. He thought Talek was a lucky bastard getting Robin to look at him so endearingly, and experimentally reached a finger out to caress his little hand, which he automatically closed around a finger that looked gigantic next to him. “Look at that, he likes you!”

“He only thinks my finger’s Ilsa’s nipple,” Strike joked, making them laugh. “Don’t tell Lucy, but I think I’m going to be quite the uncle for these two.”

Nick and Ilsa exchanged a surprised expression of glee, and Nick flopped on the armchair, staring at his family in utter bliss. The day couldn’t possibly get better.

Hours later and after having passed the babies between them several times and having accompanied the Herberts for a while, Strike and Robin rested in bed, naked and tired after one of the best sex sessions they had had, careful with Robin’s arm. Now that Strike could freely unload inside of Robin, the latter had found it actually catapulted her orgasms even faster, so they were coming at once more often than not, with Strike often holding on until Robin had done it first. Now, she lied on her back, the only posture her arm was comfortable in, and Strike on his side, with an arm over her pillow, staring at her while his other hand caressed Robin’s pale and freckled abdomen, that would never swell to accommodate a child, let alone twins, up and down, lovingly contemplating her. Jon had recently moved to a flat with a workmate and friend, so they were alone.

“You look cute with babies,” Robin commented, staring into his eyes illuminated by one lamp.

“Thanks,” Strike looked softly at her. “You’re still sure about no babies, right?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, nodding without a glimpse of hesitation. “And so are you?”

“Yes.”

“We should get a cat, those seem to love you,” said Robin half jokingly.

“Perhaps,” Strike accepted, as cats were independent and easy to maintain, compared to dogs, that needed to be walked and they didn’t have time. “Or a tiger. Or a hedgehog or… a donkey.” Robin snorted a laugh.

“I mean we could get a reptile or a fish,” she accepted. “Name it Sherlock.”

“How original,” Strike mocked teasingly, smiling at her. “I found a snake when I was a child. Begged Joan to let me keep it, but it was impossible.”

“I don’t mind snakes.”

“No, we’ll get something we can cuddle when the other’s working and we get lonely,” Strike proposed. “Something of easy maintenance. Perhaps a cat _is_ most fitting… a black one, a little arrogant bastard,” he chuckled. “And we’ll give them a cool name like… Evil or…” he was only half joking, and Robin laughed. “Satan…” he continued, laughing with her.

“Hi cute little Satan!” Robin pretended to call the cat, laughing, making the girly voice people often made with animals. “Who’s the evilest little monster?”

Strike roared in laughter, and leaning over to drown her laughter against his mouth.

“And we’ll grow old, the three of us.”

“Yeah,” Robin caressed his cheek, staring lovingly into his eyes. “Sounds good.”

“It does,” he nodded, and pecked her nose. “I love you more than all things.”

“And I love you more than horses,” she joked with a smirk, and he grinned.

“Lucky me,” he replied, before kissing her again and again.

  
  


  
  



End file.
